Call of the Sea, Cry of the Heart
by Casadora77
Summary: Legolas knows the cost of giving his heart away to a human. Seveawen holds his completely and forever. Must he choose between his two desires? Must she obey her father's will and wed someone else? Will she win the acceptace of the Valar as Arwen has seen?
1. Now: Rumor

Now

Rumor

Old Seveawen straightened and rubbed her back. Her age had never pained her before, but now it suddenly felt like her bones were grinding together. She grimaced, but inside she smiled hopefully.

Her great-great-grandson's wife Waredith saw and touched Seveawen's arm, guiding her away from the rugs they were beating. "Here, Mother," she said, "rest yourself. I think I can get all the dust out of these. Hopefully Duryn will bring something to help if your back is paining you."

The elder woman settled and sighed with relief. After a while, having an interest in gossip like many of the village women, Seveawen asked, "Heard you any good news today?"

Waredith paused to take her breath. "A queer bit. Some folk have heard tell of a silver ship on the Anduin."

Seveawen feigned only mild interest, but inside, her heart skipped a beat. "A silver ship? Nearby?"

Waredith sat down beside her. "Aye. Some folk swear it's real. Others think they're mad in the head. But they say it's sleek, little, as pretty as anything. Some have told it to be Elf-fashion."

Seveawen hummed. "Elves sailing west, perhaps," she said, "bound for their homeland across the sea." She sighed, for she remembered tales from the days when Elves had lived freely throughout Middle-Earth. "What a pity. Fair creatures they are, wonderful magic folk. Not many have stayed behind. They were leaving even when I was a girl."

Waredith regarded her curiously. "You knew about the Elves?"

"I heard stories," Seveawen remembered, "from folk who'd seen them, met them. I remember tales of when Queen Arwen Evenstar wedded King Elessar shortly after the War of the Ring." She was quiet, for Gondor was still deep in mourning for the passing of Aragorn Estel. "I fear she will diminish quickly. She sacrificed her grace for him, her immortality." Her mind drifted away in memory. "The brightest star of the night—ah, Undomíel…"

Waredith stood up. "Well," she said, "that's enough talk of Elves. Ghost grey ships or no, I've work to do. You stay there, Mother. You shouldn't be straining yourself."

Seveawen sat and rested. As she did, she thought about the tales of the silver ship. She had waited, and now the time had come.

Fingering the pendant around her neck, the old woman's eyes drifted away from the village, toward the river and the sea. The promise of the past was true. He was coming back for her.


	2. Then: First Sight

Then

First Sight

Seveawen missed her mother more than ever that morning.

_Maybe there would have been something to be done,_ she thought. Then—_no, no, probably not._ Corerith had not been in a much better place than her daughter. She herself had been trapped by her vows in an arranged marriage to a man who cared nothing for girl children, hence Eledrin's hurry to marry off his daughter.

Perhaps seventeen years was young in other places, in other times. But Eledrin son of Haleth was not of noble birth, no lord of the Dúnedain like the King Elessar or a steward's son like Prince Faramir of Ithilien. He was a village man, a farmer and craftsman of the cool green fields of Lebennin, a simple widower with few holdings and a daughter ready for marriage. Common men of Gondor settled their daughters as soon as they could.

Raweth's shadow fell across the spinning wheel. Startled, Seveawen looked up at her stepmother, a hard stern woman like an iron spear. Seveawen's mother had been a gentle beauty, nothing like the tall creature who now ruled her life. "Your father wishes to see you," Raweth announced firmly.

Seveawen knew better than to keep her father waiting. He was a good match for his second wife: shrewd of mind, sharp of tongue, proud and impatient, with little concern for his daughter's thoughts or feelings. She stood before him quietly, wringing her hands while he inspected her like a horse at market.

"Dark as a Haradrim corsair," Eledrin scowled, "with eyes like a scared rabbit." He had never favored his daughter's dark coloring; he himself was fair and grey-eyed like many men of Gondor, and yet his daughter looked to be of southern heritage. Only Seveawen's dark hair had come from her father. She had inherited her mother's wide brown eyes and skin like fine wood. "What man is going to want that for a wife?"

Seveawen's eyes flashed. Seeing the same in her father's, she knew that she had let her anger slip. She caught herself and looked down, as Eledrin expected of her.

Eledrin took his daughter's chin in his hand and forced her gaze upward. "Look at me," he ordered. Releasing Seveawen's face, he continued, "You are friends with Ohtar Callyn's son, are you not?"

"Yes, my lord," Seveawen answered softly, addressing her father as he commanded of her. The pit of her stomach went cold. She could guess where this was going. Ohtar was not a close friend of hers, but they had passed the time together year after year as children. He simply was not what Seveawen had in mind for a husband.

"Good. It seems that his family is considering our offer." Catching another glimmer in Seveawen's eyes, he drew himself up close to her and growled, "I will not have a daughter who disobeys me."

Eledrin's iron will was never questioned. Seveawen bit her tongue to control the fire of her mind as she turned and walked away. She moved quickly, eager to leave the banging door of the cottage behind and escape before Eledrin or Raweth could catch her. Seveawen needed her special place.

The clearing in the birch grove greeted her as it always did, soft dark grass and stately trunks in a haze of silver mist. Seveawen walked among the trees slowly, trying to calm her mind. Eledrin had never found much favor with her. She was too spirited, too independent, too headstrong, too moody, too far beyond her years, too romantic of mind. She looked like her mother and believed in marrying for love, often a rare notion among peasant folk. Until she found the courage to defy her father, she was trapped.

Seveawen looked up, and that was when she saw him.

The figure was further on through the trees, but she saw the long fair hair immediately. Then her eyes picked out the tall gentle strength, the haunting grace, the pointed ears. He was moving closer now—she could see more of his face, the almost unusual perfection, the design of the bow slung across his back. Her heart skipped a beat as he saw her and looked directly her way with the clearest blue eyes she had ever seen.

He was one of the Sindar, the Grey-Elven.

Seveawen raised her hand in greeting, hoping that his keen eyes would not see her tremble. Surely she was not the first mortal to feel this way at the sight of an Elf, the beautiful beings that they were. She didn't want to frighten him away. She wanted to keep looking at him, desperately wishing she could speak the Elvish tongue.

A flicker of curiosity crossed his face, and he stepped closer. The perfect lips were curving into a smile. Seveawen felt herself return it, captivated. The Elvish folk were mostly leaving, she had been told. She knew it was unlikely she would ever come this close to one of the Eldar again, and she wanted to hold on to this for as long as she could, especially since he seemed to be interested in her, too. It was as if he had asked her to dance. Step, step, stop and smile, slipping through the trees like ghosts. Step, step, stop and smile, close enough but still too far away. _What would his touch feel like?_ she wondered. She blushed at her own curiosity.

He met her eyes one last time and raised his hand again. Then he turned again and was gone, leaving Seveawen alone and completely awestruck.


	3. Banishment

Banishment

Eledrin was waiting when Seveawen returned. His face hard and resolute, carved from solid ivory, he sat in the first room of the cottage, waiting for his daughter. Raweth was with him. Her disapproval of her stepdaughter matched that of her husband.

Seveawen refused to let it intimidate her. The chance meeting in her clearing had given her determination as she remembered his piercing eyes. Elves were the most noble of warriors, the most skilled fighters and wisest of any beings to walk the Earth. She wanted to make him proud, even if she were nothing more than an infant seedling in those burning eyes. She took a deep breath and kept her expression blank as she stepped through the door.

Her father spoke no reprimand, but the scorn dripped from his tongue like cobwebs. "It has been accepted."

Seveawen took a small step back in shock, heart frozen at his words. _No—no…_

"Ohtar and Seveawen will marry this winter next." Eledrin's eyes focused on her. "As for you, daughter, you will tend to your tasks like a young woman fit for marriage. There will be no more poring over books or flitting around in the woods like some wild fairy. You are engaged to be married, Seveawen."

There appeared in Seveawen's mind a portrait of Lady Éowyn of Ithilien, sister of King Éomer of Rohan. She had married Prince Faramir—for love, no less—and it was she who destroyed the Witch King of Angmar, leader of the Nazgûl, the Ringwraiths, whom it was said no living man could kill. Éowyn had fought alongside the Rohirrim, the Riders of the Mark, even as her uncle the King Théoden lay dying on the Fields of Pelennor before Mordor's siege on the city of Minas Tirith. Seveawen had always been captivated by such an extraordinary woman and aspired to be just like her. How could anyone let herself be forced around when such a noble shieldmaiden still walked the same Earth and came from the exact same beginnings as the peasant folk?

With that, Seveawen knew that she had found her courage. "Father, you must be mistaken," she said. "I have not—"

Eledrin's hand flew out and struck her cheek. "What is this?" he roared. "_I am your father_! Your word means nothing, Seveawen." His voice became soft and extremely lethal. "I have gone to all this trouble to find a good match, yet you defy me." His voice dropped even further, but maintained its threat, its sharp hidden edge. "What would your mother say?"

"She would smile," Seveawen replied softly, "for I have said what she never could."

Eledrin's rage flared, and he slapped his daughter again. "Enough!" His grey eyes were livid with fury. "Corerith was nothing but a wench. No wonder her daughter is the same." Eledrin swore an oath that made Seveawen's skin prickle and crawl. "Our word has been given, Seveawen, and it is time you learned your place. I will not be defied." As if Seveawen had anyway, he roared, "Get out!"

She walked toward the door, stopped, and turned back. "You shatter my mother's reputation with your words." Seveawen thought and considered for a moment. "Yet it was you who made her so. Shall I speak of my grandmother the same way? You cannot control my words. If I refuse my vows—"

"OUT!" Her father screamed, his only reply. And so Seveawen left.

The clearing was still waiting for her. When Seveawen knew she was far enough from the village, she sank to her knees and cried out to the sky in anguish. What cut her the most was not her impending marriage—or, rather, her father's intention of an impending marriage—but the way he had spoken of her mother. Corerith's marriage to Eledrin was arranged, but it had been joyless, filled instead with failed negotiations, silent suffering, and endless sacrifice on Corerith's part to appease Eledrin's temper. Yet she had stayed. Corerith could easily have left him; Seveawen had encouraged her to do so many times, and it would only cost Corerith to be the subject of gossip for a week or so. But Seveawen's mother had been a faithful woman, determined to keep the promises she had made as Eledrin's bride. She had never struck Seveawen the way her father did, out of sheer spite. Corerith had always listened to her daughter and understood her. Seveawen's mother had _loved_ her; how could Eledrin dare to attack her character?

She knew she was lucky. They had known each other since childhood; Ohtar was far from a stranger to her. And he looked well. But Seveawen could not see herself touching his hand, sharing secrets, sleeping beside him, carrying and raising his children. Ohtar was a gentle man, flowing with kindness. He would treat her well. But there was a solid reluctance she felt to give away her heart without her own consent.

Seveawen wandered to the farthest edge of the clearing, where the ground dropped down sharply into the forest. She stopped and stood still, staring off into the trees toward the Anduin River. It was a morbid thought, but she couldn't help but wonder. What would it feel like to jump? What kind of suffering would drive a person to throw away their life, to seek the terror of falling beyond control, _wanting_ to let the rocks dash their head open and end everything that they had ever known?

Seveawen shuddered, not wanting to return to that hellish cottage. What would Lady Éowyn have done? What about Galadriel, Queen Arwen, or Lúthien Tinúviel? They would have courage and return. But then again, none of them would have found themselves in Seveawen's place.

She sighed, intending to linger on her way back. As she turned, however, her skirts caught and tangled, pulling her toward the rocks and the wood.

There was the longest second, filled with the dizzying sensation of nothing. As Seveawen fell, two thoughts slipped into her head. First: _How ironic_. Second: _Good riddance_. Surely she would hit the ground soon—

There was a deafening crash, a sickening pain in her head, and then nothing.


	4. Crossroads

Crossroads

The human girl Legolas had seen in the birch clearing was following him. Why couldn't he erase her from his mind? It was filled with thoughts of the curious young woman. She wouldn't leave him alone! Perhaps her mortality would lead him to think of Aragorn. It had been a while since he had visited his friend in the White City. But remembering their close companionship as part of the Fellowship led him instead to think of Queen Arwen, daughter of his distant kinsman Lord Elrond of Imladris. Elrond had crossed over the sea to the West, leaving his sons in his place, but Arwen had joined with mortal Men as Elessar's bride. That, of course, brought him back to the young woman in the clearing.

He smiled to himself. What would Gimli think of him, an Elven warrior prince, being chased around his own mind by a mortal girl? He had taken countless foul beasts of Sauron's command, slaughtered Orcs and trolls and goblins, and even beaten a Dwarf at ale-drinking. Yet he still found himself wandering through the woods along the river, near the bluffs that edged that stand of birches.

Something was wrong. Immediately, his eyes picked out a shape lying on the ground below the bluffs. The colors were familiar, drawing him in closer. Then he saw.

It was her, the young woman he had seen that morning, laying in a mangled heap as if some restless creature had his evil way with her and left her for dead. Bloody tears had left their mark on her skin, matching the horrid gashes all over her body.

Legolas felt his eyes prickle and burn, his heart wrenching at the sight of such a creature in that horrible state. His breath caught as he remembered why she had haunted him so: she was beautiful. It was a human beauty, not the fair radiance of the Elvish folk, but there was a sort of young wisdom in her lovely brows, something indescribable in her dark hair and the way her lashes lay against her cheeks. Even her wounds couldn't conceal it, making her look even more helpless, more vulnerable.

Quickly, his hands explored her injuries. A fall such as this should have killed her, but her spirit was still there. She should be taken to Rivendell, to Lórien, to Minas Tirith, some place where more knowledgeable hands could heal her. But they were too far away, and time was running out. The blood matted in her hair, the whispering rise and fall of her breath—it was all a warning. He quickly found the first herbs he needed, just to help her sleep and ease her pain. It could take days for her to heal, but he had to save this fragile creature before he lost her forever.

Seveawen woke briefly before she was awake.

There was little that she was aware of. She was lying down on something uneven yet soft, her whole body seeming to convulse under the wrath of a shattering headache and the fire that frequently seared her skin. But she could sense another presence, a dusky sweetness in the air and a hand gently on her forehead, the golden warmth and the knowledge that she was safe. Then, everything went black.

Later, her mind woke one more time before her eyes. The presence was still there. Seveawen knew that she was not alone, that everything was all right, before she slept again.

Two days passed. Still she did not open her eyes, though her breath was deeper. Her body needed time to mend itself before she could return. Maybe she hadn't fallen—maybe she had jumped. He felt the oddest touch of sorrow as he watched her carefully. Her face was so peaceful now.

Legolas allowed himself to touch her, to lay his hand across her forehead in a perfect fit. He stroked her hair, willing with every drop of blood for the young woman to open her eyes. Still she slept. He moved his hand down, hoping to stir her heart with his touch.

As if by magic, her eyes began to flutter as she made a weak, kitten-like moan. She was coming back—

Seveawen startled, feeling nothing but a stranger's hand on her dress. She seemed to almost stammer, as if she couldn't yet bring herself to speak.

_No…_ The last thing he wanted was to frighten her away. She was still fragile. "Peace," he said softly, trying to calm her. "Forgive me. I did not mean to frighten you."

Seveawen heard the low musical voice and finally took notice of the stranger. Those eyes—she remembered those eyes, that shade of blue, that endless clarity.

She had seen him in the clearing.

A deep breath slipped out from inside. "Who are you?" She asked in amazement.

He answered with liquid words. "Non Legolas Thranduillion."

Seveawen took a moment to unravel the beautiful sounds. "Son of Thranduil… erin aran," she attempted, combining the Elvish words for _woods_ and _king_. She had studied enough to know that Thranduil was the king of the Mirkwood forest realm. "You… you are one of the Fellowship."

His lips remained temptingly gentle. "Yes. And I am very glad I found you here. There was much blood, but you have healed."

"I remember falling… have I been asleep?"

He stood. "Yes. Two days." He helped her to her feet, surprising her with the firm strength in his hands.

"And who tended me?"

"I did. I have learned some of the healing used by my people."

Seveawen struggled to comprehend, unused to such kindness. "You stayed with me?"

He gathered his bow. "I could not have left you." Neither could he tell her what his heart told him about her.

Seveawen stared at him. He had stayed beside her and healed her… somehow, it didn't make sense. She had to repay him for what he had done. Not only did she look upon an Elf, but he had come back and saved her life. A Firstborn of Ilúvatar.

She dropped to her knees. "Thank you…" she whispered. This was a grave matter, and Seveawen knew what was expected of her. "I owe you a life debt."

Legolas considered her words. "A life for a life," he murmured. "Yes, it seems you do. Tell me, do you have much here to leave behind?"

Seveawen thought of her father and stepmother, her mother's death, the arrangement made for her. "No," she whispered, fully prepared to swear her fealty.

"Then come." He swung lightly onto the back of the waiting horse. "We will talk on the way." Smiling again, he reached for her hand and pulled her easily up behind him. "I take you now into my service." The horse charged forward, and everything Seveawen had ever known disappeared behind her and her new master.


	5. Sacrifice

Sacrifice

Seveawen knew how to ride—everyone did—but she was almost concerned by the urgency with which the horse moved through the passing country. There was an apparent need to cover ground. She maintained proper silence and held on to her master as little as she could. Fulfilling a life debt demanded patience, loyalty, suffering, and willing sacrifice—the same things that Corerith had given for her daughter.

Elves were noble beings—she knew that. She was safe. The Ring had been destroyed, after all. But Seveawen did not feel ready to give her true name, not until she gained more knowledge of her situation. Until then, she would be Triraveth, an orphan with a name she had always admired. After all, wasn't she an orphan in a way? Her mother was dead and her father—well, Eledrin barely deserved to be called such after the way he had cared for his daughter.

After a long while, the horse slowed to a canter beneath them. Seveawen felt her master relax, and she herself did as well. She tightened her fingers, admonishing their urge to reach up and feel the soft golden hair blowing gently against her face.

Finally he turned and looked back at her. "You may speak if you like. I have not bound you to silence."

Seveawen smiled in spite of herself and tried to draw a little closer to his ear. Underneath his clothing, his body was nearly rock-hard and rippling with muscle like a fine stallion. She attempted to ignore it. "May I ask where we are headed?"

"We are bound for Ithilien. I have business there which demands my presence." Legolas let the horse drop back to rest and turned over his shoulder. "You have said nothing of yourself. Do you have a name?"

Seveawen dropped her eyes and followed the story she had arranged. "Triraveth. I am an orphan." It was close enough to the truth; the one person who should have cared for her never did.

Her master sensed her heavy feelings, and instead mentioned her recognition at their meeting. "You know the story of the Ring."

"I have studied it," she replied, "whenever I could."

"Then you must know of my friend."

She had read of the Dwarvish Elf-friend. "Yes. Gimli. Glóin's son. His father was one of the companions when the Ring was found."

Her master's surprise was obvious. "You know much! Tell me everything you have learned. I desire to hear you speak."

Seveawen took a deep breath and began with whatever she could tell of Ilúvatar, the Creator, and the Valar who reigned in the western Homeland across the sea. She spoke of the exile of Fëanor and his people, what she knew of the Kinslaying at Aqualondë—Elvish history, mostly—and the kingdom of Númenor, as well as the tale of the Rings of Power and the Fall of the One.

When she had finished, Legolas simply laughed. "Then you shall be greatly respected among my people."

"They are still in Middle-Earth?"

"Some," he replied. "Not all of us have yet desired to leave. There is still life in Rivendell—as you call Imladris—and in Lórien, in Mirkwood where I have lived, and now in Ithilien. It was my desire to bring my people there, alongside Prince Faramir and the Lady Éowyn. The Dwarves have come, too, and so the Three Races dwell side by side, for the Halflings have remained in the Shire."

"And you?" Seveawen struggled to untangle her soft question. "Have you yet desired to leave?"

Her master—no, now too her friend, she felt—was silent for a moment. "I have heard the call of the waters," he answered quietly, thoughtfully, "the Sea-Longing, as we call it. Galadriel warned me of it through Gandalf when he met us in Fangorn, and she was right. The words of the Lady of the Golden Wood have always come to pass in truth. No," he said, "she has passed into the West, but she will always be the Lady of the Golden Wood.

"And even now, the cry of the sea has never left my heart. My people, we are nearly ageless. When something, someone, calls to us that deeply—as Lady Undómiel called to Aragorn, and he to her—we are never again the same. My people's homeland cries out to me and begs for me to return. It is only a matter of time until I can bear to stay no longer. But a long time it may be, for time does not pass to us as it does to Men."

Talk of such things put a weight in Seveawen's heart, and they were silent. Finally, the sky began to darken, and the horse stopped in a small clearing, where they would rest for the night. She slid down from the animal's back tentatively, stumbling when her feet hit the ground from such a height. Instantly, she felt a pair of hands on her shoulders, her back, steadying her. The warm touch slipped right through her clothes and made her skin tingle, the gentleness lingering in memory as much as the hidden strength. So _that_ was what an Elf's touch felt like…

The girl was tired—Legolas could see it easily. She ate no more than she needed and seemed to be far away. He watched her as she slept, never once moving. What an odd young woman this Triraveth was! She was so open in mind, so far beyond her age, and he perceived a strength of mind that she had yet to display. Her face had been serene in her deathlike sleep, like unstirred waters, but now a light was dancing inside those exotic dark eyes.

Legolas touched her one last time and settled himself to rest between the worlds of light and dark, as Elves often do, all the while watching over her carefully. He would see to it that she could sleep in tranquility, exactly the way she had found her.

As quickly as the horse had borne Seveawen away from her home behind her master, he carried them into Ithilien. It had once been a land of green hills and flowering woods, peaceful and full of life, until the will of the Dark Lord had destroyed it. But the Elves had healed the land and brought their wisdom, their grace, the beauty in their way of life. Seveawen had seen drawings of all the Elven kingdoms, the hidden city of Rivendell, the dark forest caves of Mirkwood, the treetop palaces of Caras Galadhon in Lothlórien, the Golden Wood. Ithilien was young, but it had been built with the care of a thousand cities, all the Elvish realms in one place alongside Men and Dwarves. Like Lórien and Imladris, it was carved in harmony with the forest around it, taking beauty from its trees and gently curving arches. Folk looked up as they passed, seemingly amused at the sight of a human youth riding behind an Elf as they parted a path for them.

Finally, the great white creature halted and was surrounded by Men wearing the colors of Gondor, the white tree set on a banner of black and crowned by silver stars. There was an Elf with them, as well, a high lord draped in silver and blue.

"My companion brings no harm," Legolas told them, and Seveawen was permitted to dismount. He followed, speaking to the Elf-lord briefly as the horse was led away. "Tell me, Cúthalion, are the Prince and Lady free to see me?"

"You have been expected, my lord," one of the Prince's guards answered. "Is she to enter as well?"

"Yes. This is my servant. Triraveth is fulfilling a life debt."

Seveawen struggled to follow him as the guards and Cúthalion the Elf-lord opened a set of enormous wooden doors. Suddenly she felt rough and awkward, knowing that she would be very soon be meeting royalty. She had always felt like the kingdom's lowest serf before her mighty father, subject to the slightest whim of Eledrin's temper. But this was different, meeting a ruler with actual power and a far higher sense of fairness and decency than Eledrin. She watched Legolas carefully, observing his body language and listening for his tone so she would know exactly how to speak, should she be presented with such an honor.

"Hail Prince Faramir, Lord of Ithilien," her master greeted suddenly. They were looking upon a noble man in the robes of a high lord, with a kind face and the grey eyes of Gondor. Prince Faramir returned the warm greeting, and before Seveawen knew it, was looking upon her.

Blushing, she kept her eyes down and bowed in respect, sure he must be mocking her behind those eyes of wisdom.

The Prince of Ithilien studied her. "You are of this land, my dear?"

Seveawen bowed again. "Yes, my lord. Lebennin."

"Then you are welcome here." Faramir smiled, for even if she were not of Gondor, she would still be welcome.

Her master was invited to sit and eat. Seveawen stood behind him to await his request, as was proper for any servant. Keeping one ear pointed toward them, not wanting to miss an order, Seveawen let her mind wander a bit.

Even now, she struggled to meet his gaze. She still wasn't used to those eyes, the powerful depth in them, or the blood they brought to her face. He had looked at her many times with what she thought was the normal light that danced in noble Elven eyes. Seveawen could never be sure, but it seemed like that light contained a special sort of care, an unusual tender feeling she had never experienced before and hardly expected from one so great and…beautiful.

She scolded herself for thinking like such a lovesick little girl, smitten with a new boy every day. Not only was he her master, but he was an Elf. Surely only one of his own would mesmerize him in such a way. Even if he loved her, he could not remain immortal. His grief would kill him slowly and painfully after she passed away, and the Elves were not born or intended to suffer. It was wrong to desire his love.

The ear she had kept trained on her master's talk stirred her. "Triraveth," he said quietly, "you may sit. Please…"

Seveawen dipped her head briefly and did as he commanded, careful not to make improper eye contact with Faramir. A pair of hands slid a plate of food before her, a soft voice encouraging her to eat. She glanced at her master briefly, waiting for his permission, which he gave with the flicker of a smile. It was the same food she was used to at home, meat and cheese with a bit of bread and fruit. Seveawen made sure to eat slowly; she would feel disgraced to have eaten more then her master, and she had the distinct feeling that Legolas preferred the Elves' food.

A hand settled on her shoulder. Looking behind, Seveawen saw that it was a woman's, one of the same hands that had set the food before her. Its owner was a tall lady, gentle in her pale fairness like a slender silver moon.

"You are hungry," Éowyn whispered. "Please, you must eat. Never mind being a servant."

"Thank you, my lady." Seveawen dipped her head again and, though slowly, nearly cleaned her plate. However humble, she could not refuse the hospitality of such good folk, let alone royalty, and she wondered what her mother would think of her now.


	6. Peace

Peace

When Seveawen woke, she was in bed, and it was morning.

Her cheeks flooded warm. Had she fallen asleep before the Prince and Lady? Had she needed to be carried away like a small child coming home from feasting on a summer's night? Even more so, had she neglected to tend to her master?

What Seveawen didn't know was that Legolas had again watched her sleep. He had risen quite early, enabled by that queer method of Elf-rest, to watch the sun and see to it that she woke in peace. She had been able to walk to her quarters, but had slept so deeply he feared that she would startle when she opened her lovely eyes. He had sat beside her and stroked her hair, willing it so that only good dreams passed through her mind. Little did she know that visions of her had danced before his eyes all that night. She was still chasing him through his thoughts as he wished to feel her skin, unaware that she, too, longed for the touch of his hand.

Seveawen threw on her clothes as quickly as she could and hurried out onto her balcony, hoping she could find him before her own lazy sleepiness shamed her. As she slipped back inside, a flutter of quick movement caught her eye, and she stopped in awe.

Legolas joined her silently, gazing at her with something soft in his eyes. "You slept well," he whispered. "I am glad. You were very tired."

"I…" Seveawen's thoughts made her stumble. She could control them no longer. They always lingered on him, the long hair like gentle water, the strength and grace in his shoulders, those smoldering eyes. Her dreams had begun to desire things she dared not speak of, clasping his hand and feeling him take her in his arms, the knowledge that she was a grown woman ready to marry. The more she admonished herself, the more she wished to win his heart. But Seveawen could not bear such a selfish desire. To take his hand in such a way meant that she would take away his forever life, as Arwen had sacrificed for Aragorn. Seveawen refused to ask anything of her master, not even her heart's deepest longing.

"Thank you," she continued. "I—I am sorry. Please forgive me. I have failed…"

"No, no." Legolas was tired of watching her deny herself such basic needs as food and rest for his sake, while the Elf was not so much in need as she. The shadows under her eyes did accentuate them, but they did not belong there. Nothing should ever haunt that sweet face. She was like a fine mare serving her master with faith while dying inside to be set free and run in the mountains. He was tired of watching the beautiful young woman suffer by choice when he had the power to release her. Legolas decided that he was going to free this creature from her mental compulsion, to set her straight once and for all. "Sit down."

Seveawen did so, willing herself not to blush as he joined her on the edge of the bed. Her eyes found their way to the beautiful material of his clothing, those gentle hands. And he still smelled so… woodsy. Sweet and wholesome. She was suddenly conscious of how her hair looked—surely it had gone horribly awry—and how her sleep shift stretched across her grown shape.

"Triraveth," he said softly. "You are very willing, and I thank you for that. But you are the servant of a life debt, nothing more. You do not need to live for my command."

She heard his voice and realized—he was laughing at her! Were Elves still the happy, merry folk they had once been? Or did he really think her to be as silly a creature as she feared?

"You are still free," he told her. "Do not make yourself a slave to your conscience. Please." Legolas wanted to kiss her hair, but he did not. He feared that, being bound to him by her debt, she would feel threatened if he advanced.

Seveawen obviously did not hear this thought of his, but as he turned to leave, she was flooded with guilt. He had treated her so well, and she had lied to him in return. She knew now that he deserved to know her name.

"Wait."

Legolas turned back, eyes searching her face. Whatever was wrong, whatever was plaguing her mind, he wished to free her from it.

Seveawen stared at the floor. "My name is not Triraveth. I did not know what was going to happen, and I was afraid. Please," she whispered, "forgive me." Seveawen dropped to her knees, waiting for whatever punishment she deserved.

Legolas simply touched her chin to gently tell her that they were at peace. He felt no need for anger, not toward her. "Tell me your name, then."

She was quiet for a moment before whispering, "Seveawen."

_Seveawen…_ Legolas then knew just why her human beauty had struck him so, tormenting him day after day. He had watched her hair flow like a dark river; he had seen the light of the stars on still water in her eyes. This woman _was_ the allure of the Elven longing. The depth of her mind mirrored the vastness of the ocean, her gentle spirit flowing like the tide. In her name he heard the soft waves, the whisper of the sea. It was like first hearing the crying gulls all over again, stirring the deepest passion he could offer, and from that moment he loved her, even more than the music of the western water that sang deep within his heart.


	7. Unveiling

Unveiling

Seveawen enjoyed their stay in Ithilien. After she confessed the truth to Legolas, something had changed between them. She was more comfortable with him, sharing a sense of friendly companionship as they went about their days. Whenever he looked at her, she still got the feeling of some special thought behind his eyes. Gathering her courage, Seveawen finally let herself smile at him.

At last, it came time for them to leave. Seveawen regretted quitting such a lovely place, but she was strangely happy when Legolas offered his hand to pull her back onto the familiar white horse.

"I am often on the road between here and Mirkwood," Legolas told her as Arod galloped proudly along through the hills of the Emyn Arnen. "But this time we are bound for Minas Tirith before we reach the northern forest."

Seveawen's heart skipped a beat. He was taking her to the White City, to the King and Queen.

The journey would take days, which Seveawen and Legolas happily spent talking as they rode of war and peace, history and legend and stories of their own lives, their own ideas and the ideas of others. Seveawen had always nurtured a love of ancient lore. The tales fascinated her and came easily, while most people struggled to understand them. Her intelligent mind had often made her an outcast, she admitted many times as they spoke. And while they spoke, she studied him.

Seveawen was almost content with riding behind him. She loved his shoulders, his ears, his hair and voice, but she missed his eyes. They still took her breath away when he looked at her. Countless times, when he had stood beside her, her hand wanted to reach for his so strongly that she had to stop her fingers from dancing. She began noticing even more about her friend: his brows, his clear smooth skin. Had his jaw always been so defined, his cheekbones so chiseled? And his smell… Seveawen was still fighting away the dizziness that swarmed through her mind at the smallest hint of earthy forest spice, the essence of the Eldar. It was the same dusky scent she had sensed as she lay unconscious below her home bluffs, the aura that had reassured her as he kept her safe.

Not very many days after she had departed Ithilien behind him, Seveawen began losing sleep. She was free from his command, he had told her, but Legolas had said nothing of her duties. She felt a strong sense of loyalty to him—she would serve and stay, no matter what. As she waited patiently in the dark for him to sleep, Seveawen wondered if this was what her mother had experienced. _Thank you, Mother_, she whispered to Corerith in her mind, _for teaching me to sacrifice myself._

Seveawen wanted more than anything to close her eyes, to sleep. She still watched her companion, unwilling to let go until he rested. But his eyes remained as though he were awake, while Seveawen kept slipping toward darkness. Her face flushed with shame.

Finally, she roused herself and walked to the edge of the moonlight, letting the silver-blue glow keep her awake. The night air cooled her skin and soothed the tired ache in her head, letting her sigh with contentment for the first time in her life, even though she could never tell her master how she felt about him.

No more than a few moments had passed when Legolas joined her. "You should be sleeping," he said softly.

Seveawen turned to face him, almost intimidated. He was even more beautiful right now, right here, glowing silver and blue under the light of the stars. Could he tell how badly she wanted him to touch her face? Did he notice how she shook at the sight of the lovely form before her? "I am still your servant!" she insisted, declaring her loyalty. "I will not let myself sleep before you do. To abandon one's master so is shameful."

Legolas could hardly believe her words. He had been right about her strength of heart. She was as determined as the sea itself, but never unkind. After being with her for so long, he did not tire. He only wanted her even more, her gentle beauty and free spirit like the waters that still called to him. Feeling such a close friendship was only the beginning of his heart.

He knew this would take time. He could not be careless and rush on with the intensity of his affections, or else he could frighten her. Bound to him as she was, Seveawen knew there was no escape if he desired her. Legolas vowed to be gentle and honest, to keep his passion in check. But he could bear it no more, the Sea pulling his heart one way and Seveawen the other, tearing it in two. He had to confess the strange warming of desire, the truth in the way he looked at her. It was time to end the loneliness he felt after briefly touching her while he longed to hold her close to him. The stars, the mist, the cry of the gulls that had awakened him, the sound of her name—it was time to act upon his desires.

"Seveawen…" He caught her gently, one large hand on her shoulder. His fingers curled happily around her skin as he looked into her eyes. At the warm touch, his pulse went wild. The desire was swelling and increasing with the satisfaction. Legolas reminded himself to go slowly. But oh, Valar, he had wanted to show her this for so long. What he could he say? What could he tell her that would quiet the fierce loyalty she insisted on maintaining by his side and still awaken her to his caring? "You've done well enough," he murmured. Then, suddenly, his lips were on hers.

Well, this was something. Seveawen had never even been kissed by a fellow human. But this? He was an Elf, a magical immortal creature. There were embers dancing in the ice that spread over her body. Her mind resisted at first. She wished for this to happen for so long. Oh, how she had wanted this. She had desired his love, and now he gave it freely. Was she losing her mind to her dreams? But then he pulled away, and the ice shattered. She could still smell him, sweet wood and cool summer wind, making her head swim with the memory of his touch.

Seveawen fainted.

Legolas laughed as he held her, waiting again for her to return. Who knew he would have such an effect on her? To a fellow Elf, it would have been just a kiss. But to a human, it must have been an extraordinary sensation. Elvish affection could be intense. He had felt her shift her weight and lean into him, shyly asking for more. She had seemed to enjoy it, almost tentatively, as if she were afraid it wasn't real. But she had forgotten to breathe. He laughed again. This young woman certainly seemed to have a difficult time staying conscious.

Seveawen finally stirred in his arms. "Mmmmmmm…" she moaned. Slowly, she sat up and immediately blushed so dark that Legolas could see it in the moonlight. "I…" she attempted, suddenly worrying over what he might think about the way she filled out the top of her sleep shift.

"I took your breath away, didn't I?" he whispered. Legolas grinned and tucked a strand of dark hair behind her ear with his fingertips. His hand lightly found her jaw, careful and contemplating as he prepared himself to confess.

Seveawen didn't answer. She couldn't. Her mouth was still in shock at his display of affection, but she felt herself smile shyly. Seveawen held her breath as his fingers found her cheek. There was still a determination in his touch, one that was ready to unleash something that had been held back for a very long time. She knew now what it was. Oh, how she had wanted this—

His eyes flickered downwards. "That was not an empty gesture," he continued softly. "Seveawen…"

Seveawen dared to breathe.

Legolas met her eyes, vibrant even in the dark with shyness and longing desire. "Perhaps… perhaps I moved too quickly. Might I try again?"

_Try again..._ Another kiss, he meant. Seveawen's heart jumped. She nodded coyly, tempted to stare at the ground.

He smiled and held her chin with his finger, still amazingly strong. It was best to move slowly, to savor the anticipation as much as the kiss itself. Legolas sensed the warmth of her skin as he began to lean in closer. "Remember to breathe," he whispered, tickling her lips. Not yet-not yet- not yet—

Finally, the touch settled itself gently. He felt her take a deep breath in response. It was a good reaction; Legolas knew she did not want to miss this. Still, he felt his hand move along her neck—to steady her, he decided, although he really wanted to feel her hair in between his fingers.

Seveawen had given up on the struggle between her heart and her mind. It would have once been wrong to desire the affection of an immortal creature who had none to give. But this late evening in the moonlight changed everything. The Eldar were the firstborn of the Creator, never to be faced with pain or anguish. It would be wrong to burden him with the pain of unrequited love, as she had carried until tonight. Now, it would be wrong to lie and hold back what she felt inside. She never wanted this to end, the soft touch, the burning warmth. All her shyness fell away as she stroked his face, brushed through his hair. _You are not alone,_ she told him. _I've been in love with you all along._ His compassionate Elven heart was learning a new purpose, to love and cherish and desire. It was curious how intimate their sharing was, slowly revealing the soft side of the Elven warrior. Seveawen hoped he could understand her heart's message as his mouth traced hers.

Legolas met her lips one last time and lingered as he backed away. He had felt her return his affection, fingering his hair as she pressed in deeper. They had felt each other hum with life. But he was not satisfied. Feeling her sigh, he wrapped his arms around her tightly, gathering the truth in his heart so that she could know just how she had changed him.

Seveawen felt her strength slip, secure in his gentle embrace. His firm chiseled body rippled against her breasts, warm and pulsing. She did not want to move her head from his chest and shoulder, her fingers from his hair, any more than she wanted him to stop his soft breath against her ear.

"Ai… aníron," he whispered, and she felt his lips laid gently against her neck, "Aníron dûnaeawen nîn. I desire my maiden of the western Sea."

His sentiment touched her as if she had been cut. Seveawen was still shocked that the one whose love she desired returned it with such power. Blinking back tears, she had never before realized that her own heart was so tender.

Legolas's own tears began to dampen her hair. "Do not hurt," he whispered. "I am here. Do not cry, please, even in love. Do not cry…" He spoke more of his people's lovely words that she could not understand. But Seveawen knew he was telling her that he loved her.

Seveawen was still not ready for him to let her go, even when he did. She could not stop fingering his beautiful face. "I know what you are saying. It makes my heart ache in a way it never has before, with joy."

He smiled. Legolas was unaware of how much Elvish she had picked up during their stay in Ithilien and as they had ridden together. She was about to surprise him.

"Mellon nîn," Seveawen whispered, "ernil nîn, amarth nîn…" _My friend, my prince, my fate_. "Meleth nîn." _My love_.

When her words had faded, Legolas touched her hair. "Seveawen, when we first rode together, when we spoke of Middle-Earth and the Sea, do you remember what I told you?"

"Yes. We spoke of the Elves leaving and crossing to the Undying Lands in the West…"

Legolas's eyes searched hers. There was something else.

"The Sea-longing. We spoke of the Sea-longing. You said that when an Elf hears the cry of the water…" she trailed off.

"We are never again the same." He touched her hand. "Our people first came east from across the Sea. Even if we are born here in Middle-Earth, the Blessed Realm is still our homeland, and our hearts know this. That longing—homesickness, I believe Mortals call it—is part of our nature and our instinct. Many of us succumb to it and thus cross west to our homeland to soothe our desires and the burden of immortality. Once awoken, the Sea-longing will never rest. We of the Eldar are intense with our emotions. Our feelings run very deeply. They are difficult to alter, but if we learn to love…" He trailed off, struggling to speak. "If our heart is awakened to someone we love, it is everlasting. And here I am before you.

"Seveawen, you have become the sea to me. Even on that first morning amid the birches in your clearing, you were the loveliest thing I had ever seen. When I found you near death, when you awoke and told me you were an orphan, I wanted to help you. I wanted to protect you and keep you safely by my side. And when you told me your true name... my heart realized its real purpose, to love. I hear the call of the sea in your name, Seveawen. And I have again been forever changed. You are my ocean now," he whispered. Legolas gently laid her back down where she had tried to rest. "And that will never cease. An Elf's heart is not meant to change. Sleep, Seveawen. I will be here."

Seveawen felt him stroke her hair, the care obvious with his touch. She had been right about the feelings in his eyes, yet to know that he loved her was far beyond her expectations. Being loved by an Elf came from someplace far beyond even her deepest dreams. She kissed his hand and drifted into peaceful darkness, Legolas never leaving her side for the rest of the night.


	8. Blessing

Blessing

Legolas kissed her neck as she awoke. "We should reach the city today," he murmured. "Come. Aragorn is expecting us."

Seveawen dressed, they ate, and Legolas pulled her onto the horse behind him. "Arod is his name," he explained. "He was a gift to us from the King of Rohan.

"See…" He pointed to the rocky ground they passed. "The hills are lessening. We will reach the City ere the sun sets."

Sure enough, well within an hour's time they crested the hill they were on. Before them, instead of more bleak grey stone, lay the Anduin River and the Fields of Pelennor. Across the fields, at the foot of the great blue mountain Mindolliun, the White City rose like a single splendid silver tower pointing to the heavens.

Seveawen took a deep breath as Arod waded into the river. It was shallow and placid here, but the crossing was narrow, so Legolas said. Both up and downstream, not far away, the waters picked up drastically. Here at the crossing it reached Arod's belly, soaking the hem of Seveawen's skirts as the horse trotted through, tossing his head. Then they were across to the other side.

At the Elf's command, the great snowy beast galloped along the fields. The countryside was much like what Seveawen had left behind: cottages and barns, split-rail fences, orchards and pastures. Many of the homesteads here had been destroyed during Mordor's siege, but life was gradually returning.

Arod halted at the Great Gate of the city, waiting for the iron to be lifted. This was only the first; there were seven levels to the stone city, seven circles and seven gates to the citadel and the halls of the King.

The head guard of the gate immediately turned to Legolas. "Prince Greenleaf, my lord!" he greeted in astonishment. "It has been a while. I am sure the King Elessar will be very pleased." Then he caught sight of the young woman doubled behind the Elf. "M-my lord…" he stammered.

"My companion is to enter as well."

The guard was shocked, but he allowed them through the Gate. As Arod trotted through the spiraling streets, Seveawen noticed that the people of Minas Tirith seemed to recognize Legolas. Doubtless he was seen frequently, coming to visit his friend the king. There were even some girls who appeared to swoon, giggling and blushing, at the sight of the handsome golden-haired Elf. But then they saw her, beige-skinned and wide-eyed, and were aghast.

"They don't seem to like me," she whispered. "Have I stolen away their beloved prince?"

"Perhaps," he replied, laughing at her sharp wit. "You are simply a surprise to them."

Finally they reached the Citadel and were asked to dismount; horses were not allowed in the top circle past the seventh gate. Arod was taken from them to the stables, to be cared for just as well as the King's horse Roheryn. Guards took notice of their arrival but allowed them to walk freely, recognizing Legolas and somehow knowing that they were expected and welcome as friends of Elessar.

Before the King's hall, the fountain of Minas Tirith spouted its treasure into the air, glistening like scintillating crystals, and took it back again as it fell. Beside the fountain and the strip of brilliant green, Gondor's White Tree glowed and glittered in the sunlight. Not long ago, the Tree of Kings had been dead save for a single flower, as Isildur's heir was the only hope to shine under the shadow of the Dark Lord. It had been merely two years since the Fall of Sauron, but under Aragorn's rule the tree flourished again as it had during the glorious days of the Third Age.

Seveawen stared at the fountain and the Tree. "The Tree of Kings," she breathed, "and the tower of the White City. I never even dreamed that I would ever get to see this."

Legolas smiled at her. "You have seen much that you thought you never would." He leaned in and kissed her softly one last time, to remind her of his love as one such experience, before they entered the Halls of Elessar.

Seveawen heard a strange laugh and pulled away quickly, looking to see who had been watching them as they kissed. But Legolas was in the way of her eyes.

"Stealing a last private moment, eh?" the unfamiliar voice teased them.

"Better here than in the halls of the King," Legolas replied, grinning.

Then Seveawen saw the instigator of the banter approaching them. He was tall and grey-eyed, typical of Gondor, seemingly stern, but his eyes danced as he snickered good-naturedly and flashed them a rakish smile. He and Legolas clapped each other on the back, a men's embrace, while she watched. Was this Aragorn Elessar? How was she to act toward him, if her love was his good friend?

Finally his attention turned to her. "Ah. I see you have brought a friend, Legolas." Aragorn's teasing smile had still not left.

She felt his hand squeeze her shoulder. His friend she was indeed. "Seveawen, this is my friend Estel," Legolas smiled, using Elessar's Dúnedain name.

Seveawen bowed, only to feel Aragorn take her hand and lightly kiss her fingers. "My lady," he murmured. "I welcome you to Minas Tirith."

"Thank you, my lord."

Seveawen and Legolas followed Aragorn into the royal hall, past the throne in its glorious chamber, through the lavish corridors of the citadel palace. They were invited to sit and rest on the cushions—not as subjects, but as friends.

Aragorn studied them. His eyes tended to favor her, Seveawen noticed. "I sense there is an interesting story to be told here," he said. "Perhaps the lovely Queen Evenstar will soon join us."

The whisper of velvet skirts brought him immediately to the doorway. "Arwen," he said, kissing her forehead tenderly. "We have guests, meleth nîn. Legolas has returned to Minas Tirith."

Arwen looked to the cushions and smiled as her distant kinsman rose and kissed her cheek. "My lady Undómiel," he greeted her. Then her soft sapphire eyes found Seveawen.

"Seveawen Eledriniel," she said with recognition, already knowing her name form the foresight her father Lord Elrond of Rivendell had passed to her.

With no opportunity to be surprised, Seveawen stood quickly and bowed. "My lady…"

Queen Evenstar cupped the young woman's chin and gently tilted Seveawen's face up to her own. Her touch tingled as much as her words. "I know you well, for I have seen you," she said, her voice low and knowing. "You are blessed among the Eldar. Morvána I name you, Dark Beauty, for you are a precious one in this world." Releasing her, Arwen gathered her dress and sat beside her husband. She smiled, her face lighting up, lips full and red. "Now, please, tell your story."

The eyes of the King and Queen of Gondor were upon her, and the deep blue gaze of the Prince of Mirkwood. Seveawen spoke slowly, weighing her words with care. She was especially cautious when describing her home and her relationship with her father and stepmother. "My father only wants sons, of that I am sure," she said. "He was furious with my mother when I was born. Eledrin Halethion's temper is not to be toyed with." Seveawen sighed. "I am only another Corerith, my mother's daughter, not his own."

She felt Legolas gently touch her arm and squeeze her hand. "Seveawen's father has promised her without her word," he explained. "Her anger drove her away. I found her where we had met earlier—"

"Bloody, wounded and unconscious." Seveawen smiled, for luckily she bore no scars. "I fell when my skirts caught in the thorns and tripped me."

He glanced at her, returning her grin. "There was no way I could possibly have left her. My thoughts drew me there again, and I wanted to save her. I had to heal her."

Perceiving their connection, Arwen's blue eyes drifted from Seveawen to Legolas. "It is a wonderful thing," she sighed, joining their hands under hers. "I sense that the favor of the Valar is upon you both. The stars have blessed you." With that, she rose and hurried out to the balcony.

An Elf's heart is very tender, especially when felt and shared by another of their race. Legolas sensed that she was troubled. Kissing Seveawen's hair, he followed Arwen, determined to counsel her, and Seveawen was left alone before the King.

She felt Aragorn study her in the silence. Reaching for her hand, he whispered, "His heart is true."

Seveawen cocked her head, puzzled. Weren't all Elvish hearts true?

Elessar squeezed her hand. "Legolas loves you, Seveawen, truly. I can tell by his eyes, the way he speaks of you. 'Sea maiden,' 'western waters'…"

Seveawen smiled and blushed. His rare, precious sentiments sounded so different, so odd and unfamiliar, in Aragorn's mouth.

"The heart of an immortal is not easily changed. To have won his love is to have been given his very soul. It was the same with Beren and Lúthien, as it has been with Arwen and me. A difficult choice may be before him, but Legolas will not abandon you." Aragorn smiled again, lightly this time. "Especially if you remind him of the Sea."

Seveawen could only nod shyly. Take of love, especially deep and true love at that, was not something she was used to.

Aragorn sighed, deep in thought. "In the days when her choice was still before her, I would be happy if Arwen took her final journey west. If she chose her kin in the Undying Lands over her love for a mortal, she could live eternally as the Eldar were meant to. But she chose love and death over life and sorrow. To share a lifetime together…" He offered Seveawen a knowing smile. "The price means nothing against true love."

The king stood and slowly paced through the room, Seveawen by his side. "When I first pledged my love to her," he told her, "I was discouraged. Not only was I little beside her age and family descent, even as Isildur's heir, but I was told that only if I proved myself worthy might I wed the Lady Evenstar. Only the greatest and most deserving may be granted the hand of an Elf, the firstborn of Ilúvatar, in marriage."

He touched her chin. "The blood of southern Gondor is indeed mixed," he whispered. "It has once been a land of the children of kings, but lesser men also have since entered and remained, settling in Gondor. Your father claims you to be of this mingled heritage, but I know that is a lie."

Seveawen's cheekbones lit afire, but she dared not remove her chin from Aragorn's gentle hand. Here the King of Gondor was taking her side, disagreeing with her pompous father! She felt herself tremble.

"When I last looked, Elessar, not Eledrin Halethion, was king of Gondor. Seveawen, if the story you have told me is true, then it is your father who is of this lesser blood. Your character, your young heart is as pure as anything." Aragorn kissed her cheeks. "May the Valar bless you, my daughter."

Legolas understood that Arwen's heart was hurting. Being close to his kindred, his feelings twinged as he joined her outside, overlooking the stone city and the green fields far below.

"Undómiel," he whispered. "You are in pain, my lady. Please tell me. I will listen. Speak, Arwen."

Arwen was quiet. "I have felt this from time to time," she murmured. "My heart wavers, its beat falters. My love for him is the strongest I feel, but also great is the love I feel for my people. There are days when I miss my father so, and my mother and brothers. I will never see my father again, for he has passed into the West, and my mother has waited for him in the Undying Lands. My brothers have remained in Imladris, but Elrohir and Elladan shall surely sail over the Sea some day as well. There are days when I feel alone."

Legolas reached out to touch her cheek, for the tears glistened brilliantly in Arwen's eyes like clear blue jewels inlaid with stardust. He wished to comfort her, to chase away her sorrow, to offer words of wisdom. "If the pain is too great," he said, "Aragorn would still be happy if you sailed to the West, for then you would never be faced with death. You may still choose life when he has passed."

Arwen faced him, her eyes filled with a haunting light. "No, Legolas," she whispered. "The pain is not too great. For it is then when I remember why I made this choice. I remember the strength of our love. I remember Estel and what we have sacrificed and endured for one another.

"For nearly forty years we have waited, through the gloom of evil's coming storm and the loss of all hope save one. And we have gained everything. We have both gained the one thing we each desire. My soul is bound to his, and nothing, be it Death or a grey ship, will ever carry me from that. Even when his years have waned, even when what we have each gained is lost, even as my spirit sleeps in darkness or wanders alone, the memory of our love we have shared will still be the most precious of all. I could not have chosen any other path."

Queen Evenstar took Legolas's hands in hers. "You may one day be faced with the same. All I can say is to follow your heart. But," she added, "I feel that very well may not happen. There is something special about her."


	9. Passion

Passion

Legolas's blue eyes opened slowly. His gaze focused quickly, and he grinned to see Seveawen's form above as she caressed his face. He tucked back a lock of hair as it escaped from behind her ear.

"Vanya nant i-rûn," she whispered, returning his smile. _The sunrise was beautiful._

He sat up, and she noticed that his chest was bare. "Had I known you were awake, I would have risen and joined you."

"No, you would not." Laughing quietly, Seveawen kissed his forehead. She knew he was only pretending that he, too, had been awake. Even his keen Elven senses had been resting when she slipped into his chamber. "So Elves really do sleep."

Legolas admitted his bluff sheepishly. "Yes, we do sleep. It is only then when our dreams are beyond our control." He had dreamed of her again, of things so deeply wonderful that he dared not discuss them aloud for fear they would vanish. He had dreamed that he could finally describe the boundless glory of his love for her.

Seveawen flushed slightly at his talk of dreams. Half entranced and half guilty, she could not tear herself away as he slept. In the pale gold light of the dawn, he had very nearly writhed in blissful anguish, his face peaceful and at the same longing, teased and tantalized beyond normal joy. The shadows and warm flickers of the coming light had swirled across his firm chest and chiseled stomach, tortuously beautiful. She herself had dreamed of her sweet prince so vividly that when she woke, she had been shocked and nearly cried that Legolas was not lying beside her.

"Echuiriar 'uren nîn," he whispered, brushing his lips behind her ear. _My heart is stirring._ "Seveawen, even the loveliest words will fail me. But I must tell you what I dreamed."

She curled her legs under his and rested on his folded, drawn-up knees. "I am listening."

He brushed his fingers through Seveawen's hair, his warm palm resting happily against her cheek. "The strength of the Sea-longing is not something I can easily describe. Imagine something so beautiful that it breaks your heart, but still it is all you want."

Seveawen closed her eyes, seeing only him in her mind. She could envision the feeling well.

"Can you feel it?" Legolas whispered. "The strength, the longing, the desire? The depth and the beauty?"

"I can," she answered, barely able to be heard.

"Now, think of something more. Think of the feeling growing and growing and growing until it nearly consumes you."

Seveawen remembered their late night together in the moonlight of the Emyn Arnen highlands, when Legolas swept her away as he found the courage to confess what he felt. Her heart had felt so full, only tears could soothe the incessant slashing, pulling glow within her. In a way, her blissful heartache reminded her of sore muscles from a long day of riding. Every movement hurt, but at the same time felt so wonderful.

"That is how I feel," Legolas whispered. "That is what you are to me. Do you understand?"

"Yes, meleth nîn." Seveawen's voice cracked and broke. "I understand. I… I feel the same. The same the pain, the same joy—"

He brushed away a tear that had spilled down her tawny cheek. "Is it not wonderful?"

Seveawen helplessly closed her eyes. "Yes," she whispered. She could not describe to him how deeply his care for her touched her heart. Lately, it seemed that she often found herself blinking away tears. And when she found herself blinking back those tears, it was because she was smiling. "Legolas… I-I—" _I love you_, she was trying to say. She was dying to say it. But she choked up every time she tried, and she could never speak.

_Fine._ If Seveawen could not tell him of her love, she would show him. Refusing to allow herself to hesitate, she took his face in her hand and softly pressed her lips against his. She felt him respond, asking to lead as he felt her tremble. _No, no, not yet. There's something I need to show you,_ Seveawen replied as she was allowed to slip deeper. Her kiss might never affect him the same way he thrilled her with his touch, but she could still show him what he meant to her. Seveawen let her tears flow and her feelings rush out from the deepest corner of her soul, through her blood in time with her pulse, passing from her lips to his and into his Elven heart.

When she knew Legolas understood, Seveawen began to back away, slowly circling along his lips with her tongue. To her surprise, she felt his hands firmly on her wet cheeks and his own strong love curl around hers, bringing her closer. _Keep breathing,_ he told her, and pulled Seveawen onto his chest as he lay back against the cool linen sheets.

Legolas felt her shiver with enjoyment, her hands on his collarbone. He wrapped his arms tighter around her shoulders and hips, balanced atop his. As he held her, he knew that deep inside, she was rejoicing. Seveawen was no longer just following his lead; she danced right alongside him, and it was pure ecstasy. The tears streaming down her face mixed with his, their salt only enhancing the euphoria of the other's kiss.

Many times Legolas had needed to remind himself to stay his passion. Now his chance had come to express the first of the extent of his care, to relieve himself of the tension he happily suffered. But he was still in control. Here, now, with Seveawen curled up tenderly against him on the bed and the light of a newborn day wrapping itself around them, they had found their paradise.


	10. Truth

Truth

It went without saying that Legolas and Seveawen were to dine with the King and Queen. As they entered the banquet hall later that morning, they caught Aragorn and Arwen sharing a brief embrace.

Not wishing to disturb them, they grinned at each other. It seemed so odd to watch Gondor's rulers nuzzling so intimately, but still so normal for such a deep love. Seveawen and Legolas could understand perfectly, for they shared the same caring desire between them. Before either of them realized it, he pressed his mouth tenderly against hers and squeezed her neck with his gentle fingers. Seveawen felt herself reach up and touch his hair as he backed away slowly, leaving her breathless.

Aragorn's rusty chuckle brought their attention back to their hosts. He and Arwen were not the only couple alight with the spirit of love. Sometimes care and fondness ran so deeply that there was an urgent need for affectionate expression. Understanding instantly, Legolas laughed in return while Arwen and Seveawen smiled shyly at one another.

After they had eaten, the Queen of Gondor touched the young woman's hand. "It is a wonderful thing, such love," she said again, just as she had told the young couple as they spoke upon their arrival in Minas Tirith. "I know it is so, and surely you have also discovered this."

Seveawen blushed and felt the corners of her mouth curl, only to watch Arwen return the knowing smile. That morning's heartfelt moment between them was still fresh in her mind, as was Seveawen's relief at having shown Legolas her feelings. Her heart was no longer brimming with tears; she had felt it blossom like the lovely white _elanor_ flowers in Ithilien, bursting with total joy. Something deep inside of her made her want to dance and sing until she collapsed, but she knew not how.

"I am happy," she said. "I have always been happy beside him. But this is different. I feel free. For the longest time, I could never tell him how I felt, even after he confessed his love for me. I would always start crying whenever I tried to tell him that I love him back. But this morning, everything I have longed to say came out so easily. The words and the tears, and the joy—"

Lady Undómiel touched Seveawen's hand again. "Yes," she said. "I have seen it. You are not feeling just any love, Morvána. A blessing is with you that is rarely seen upon any mortal. The mighty Valar and Ilúvatar the Creator have something special in mind for you."

Aragorn studied his friend intently. Legolas's blue eyes were softer and clearer now, his brow and jaw firm enough to make any maiden squeal and swoon. Meeting Seveawen had definitely changed him in a way that could not easily be undone.

"Something has happened between you two," Elessar pointed out gently.

Legolas smiled. "Seveawen has freed her heart to me." How would he explain this to Aragorn? He and Arwen had been able to declare their love almost immediately, and yet Legolas and Seveawen especially had both for a time suffered with an excruciating lack of proper words to express their feelings.

"I have seen her feelings for many long days," he explained. "Seveawen's eyes may be dark, but they are luminous like starlight on water. I knew that she loved me even before I could show her how I felt. But that was never enough for her.

"Whether her childhood and her past has caused this to be I do not know. But Seveawen's heart is very tender. Simply knowing of my love has made her weep, and willingly so. All she could do was weep. If she tried to speak…" Legolas smiled. "The tears would come and drown her voice. Only this morning did she find a way to show her feelings. Even then, Seveawen had to rely on a gesture instead of words. It was the loveliest kiss yet that we have shared."

"Words are often not enough," Aragorn commented. There were times when he and Arwen were well aware of this truth.

Legolas's voice was very quiet as he remembered how she had reached out and touched him with her love. "Our tears mixed along with our hearts," he whispered. "I am happy for her, that she could relieve herself of such a burden. But she need not have suffered. I was aware of her feelings all along."


	11. Grace

Grace

After leaving Minas Tirith, the journey grew cold and damp. But neither Seveawen nor Legolas felt it. They still had one another, and the memory of their time in the White City.

Still but newly freed form carrying her burden of silent love, Seveawen's mind remained tangled around the words Arwen had spoken to her. The King and Queen had sent their friends off warmly with final strains of advice murmured with encouraging smiles. "I know not what may come," Arwen had said. "Let your heart tell you where to go, for it has led you to him. The grace of the Eldar is upon you, my Lady Celebrithil."

Seveawen had appeared puzzled at this, bringing another smile to the Queen's face. "Yes, Celebrithil," she whispered. "Silver birch, for is that not where you first saw one another?" The Queen Evenstar slowly backed away from Arod. "May the Valar smile upon you, Morvána." And so they left.

Legolas held her close as they rode, remembering Elessar's last words to them in the Citadel. "Take care of her," Aragorn had said, "for her heart is tender." The two friends had shared a smile at Aragorn's teasing, for Legolas knew that to be true far more than he did. But Legolas's hand curled gently around Seveawen's hips in front of his saddle. After the blossoming between them in Minas Tirith, they had silently and mutually decided to try a more intimate position as they rode north toward Mirkwood.

Their nights were spent very carefully. Many evenings, Seveawen found her head on Legolas's shoulder as they talked and watched the stars, bright and crisp in the _Narbeleth_—October—sky, until he sweetly laid her down to rest in the dark. When it was particularly cold, Legolas moved his bedding close to hers, wrapped tightly in Elvish cloth, and threw a fur blanket over them both. Besides the deep caring friendship still reverberating between them, they were beginning to feel new urges, desires to know each other even more intimately the way husbands and wives did.

"Keep your head clear," Aragorn had warned Seveawen, hinting toward his meaning with a smile. "Elves are very passionate."

Seveawen had blushed then, being unmarried, but on those frosty nights when she felt her prince nuzzling her neck and kissing her to sleep, it felt exactly right.

It was a long way from Minas Tirith to Mirkwood. As he cradled her against him, Legolas pointed out the lands of Middle-Earth as they passed, places Seveawen had read about and thought she would never see: the ugly and dank Dead Marshes and the mighty Falls of Rauros, the rocky highlands of the Emyn Muil on the eastern border of Rohan, land of the horse-lords. Farther north, still along the great Anduin, they passed the Field of Celebrant and the magical wood of Lothlórien. Though Galadriel and Celeborn had passed from Caras Galadhon, there was still life there in Lórien, and Legolas sang the song of Nimrodel, the Elf-maiden and her singing stream in the Golden Wood, softly in Seveawen's ear.

Finally, after many long days, they came to Mirkwood. Seveawen had heard tales of the place, suffocating forest and solid darkness, filled with goblins and fearsome giant spiders. No wonder it had such a gloomy name. But Elves lived there, too, Wood-Elves of the trees led by their king Thranduil, Legolas's father.

She felt his hand steady her. "Greenwood is not as it has once been," he reassured her softly. "Since the fall of the Dark Lord, my people have cleansed the forest of its evil. You will be safe. My father awaits us, so we must ride quickly."

Seveawen was grateful to be riding behind Legolas today. It was not the imposing gloom that unnerved her as much as the thought of keen Elven eyes watching from within the shadows. The folk of Mirkwood are good, but forest Elves do not trust strangers. Until she settled herself to riding under the dark trees, she could hide behind his shoulder. And, if need be, Legolas could better use his bow with Seveawen behind.

To ride through Mirkwood, even on the Elvish road, took many days. The caves of Thranduil were nearly on the other side of the forest. During the day, newly lit to the Mirkwood folk after its wickedness had been purged from the blackness, Seveawen swore she could hear the strangest singing in the distance, joyful yet eerie. As they rode deeper into the wood, the singing grew stronger. It was just clear enough that she could make out the Sindarin Grey-Elven tongue. Somewhere nearby, Elves were at their merrymaking and song.

Legolas halted Arod underneath them. "There is a feast happening now," he said. "Perhaps my people will allow their prince to join them."

Before Seveawen knew it, he had urged Arod off the path. Legolas seemed to know exactly the way to follow. The horse danced nervously under them, and having one frightened rider did not soothe him. But Elves are a magical people and have quite a special way with horses. With a whispered word from Legolas, Arod settled and picked his way through the massive mangled boughs. It was as if the Elf told him exactly how to manage the rocks and the thick forest floor under the dim light that seeped through the leaves. Here and there, enormous ropes of cobweb were still entwined with the trees, left from the days of the giant spiders before the Fall of Sauron had caused them to perish, aided by skilled Elven archers. Arod continued right past the gnarled tree trunks and the unusual black squirrels that seemed to stalk them through the wood.

Not a long while later, Seveawen caught sight of a glimmer of red light through the tunnels of dark trees. The day was too far gone for it to be sunlight, and Seveawen quivered, knowing that she was very close to the Elvish folk of Mirkwood.

Legolas looked back and touched her hand to calm her. "They will not hurt you," he chuckled, "though they may very well tease you, for my people dearly love to laugh." He smiled. "Perhaps the minstrels will even play a love ballad for us."

Arod walked forward again and soon pierced the clearing from where the red glimmer had come. He stopped, eyes wide at the sight of the bonfire and the merry Elvish folk swarming around. Music filled the air, thick with wood smoke and roasting meat, a cold autumn-evening breeze and the heady scent of the Elvish folk themselves. None of the Elves appeared to notice them at first as Seveawen slid to the ground, Legolas close behind.

He took her hand in his, smiling. "It is time we celebrated what we have discovered, yes?" And Legolas kissed her right there, right in front of his forest kin.

The laughter quieted, and musical voices began calling out. Seveawen could not understand them, but she figured they were commenting on her. Perhaps they thought her to be one of their kindred, seeing only her dark hair with her skin bronzed even further in the firelight. But Seveawen knew that she was too short of height to be mistaken for an Elf.

As Legolas pulled away and turned to face the others, he spoke a string of Sindarin words, some of which she could understand: _firiel_, mortal woman; _Ninduinedor_, land of water and rivers, the five streams in her home of Lebennin; _mellon nîn_, my friend; _elaman_, star-blessed; _urenechuir_, heart-awakening. And when he finished, Seveawen was happily welcomed by his people.

Legolas remained by her side, guiding her through her first Elvish feast. His people were not out to trick her or do her harm. But there was wine being passed around, rich potent Elvish wine that could put a mere human out in just a few sips. Food was set before them, roasted meat with soft warm bread and strange, sweet fruit. As Seveawen ate, she decided that Elvish food was better than that of Men.

They were certainly more welcoming. Some of the Elves did tease her; Legolas's warning was not at all in vain. But they joked gently and happily, calling her _Haradwen,_ southern maiden, for she did appear to them as one of the tanned and dark-haired folk of Umbar. Even after being mocked by her father for most of her life because of her different coloring, Seveawen found it easy to join their laughing banter, her wit placed very carefully. Some of the Elves smiled at her specially, men and women, light and dark haired, blue and green eyed, their faces of milky gold and silver tinged bronze and scarlet by the flames. They gently tilted her chin up in their hands, admiring such a rare gem and welcoming her among Thranduil's people.

Seveawen felt a strange hand on her head. As she looked back, she saw another friendly Elf smiling down at her. "Lebethron," was all she said, her green eyes sparking.

"She means your hair," Legolas explained. "_Lebethron_ is beautiful, sleek wood that is dark in color. We value it very much."

Seveawen smiled back over her shoulder in thanks for the compliment, but the woman had vanished. At that moment, the music changed. Suddenly all eyes were on her and Legolas as the cheering began and grew louder and louder.

"What did I say?" Legolas laughed softly. "The minstrels are playing a lovers' dance for us." He stood and held out his hand for her. "Shall we?"

Seveawen hesitated. These people were amazingly graceful, nimble and light of foot. She was a mere human, and often a stiff-legged one at that. There was no way she could possibly manage to pull off an Elvish love dance. "I…" She stuck out her foot and studied it. "I do not think I could."

Legolas smiled, knowing well just how she often struggled to maintain decent poise and grace even when she simply walked along. "Take my hand, Seveawen," he whispered, "and let me guide you. Your feet will not stumble, I promise."

Deciding to trust him, Seveawen laid her palm on his, feeling his fingers curl around and hold her safely. He pulled her toward the fire in a glorious rush as the music swelled into something ethereal that she had never heard before and sent chills all over her skin. Not a single step Legolas took, nor a single move he made, registered in her mind. They were floating between worlds as they danced. The aroma of the celebration and the lovely Elvish faces cheering for their prince's love completely vanished, blurring and spinning into swirls of stars and dreams and a familiar, persistent, soothing heartbeat. All Seveawen knew was that her world was richly scented with his skin, his presence, and tilted far beyond the earthly limits of normal beauty.

Then everything halted, dizzying her even more than the dance itself. Slowly, Seveawen realized that Legolas was holding her securely in his arms, dipped back unnervingly close to the ground. She let out her breath, weak with relief and wonderment.

Her prince smiled as he righted her and brushed a tendril of dark _lebethron_ hair away from her eyes. "I told you you would not stumble."

She returned his smile coyly as Legolas pressed his soft lips to her forehead, her temples, her cheek, and finally her own lips.

The cheering stopped abruptly.


	12. Darkness

Darkness

Seveawen trembled as she watched the Elvish guard push his way importantly towards the fire. He carried himself with the same authority she had been dying to escape for seventeen years, the same authority that Eledrin had kept her shackled with.

Legolas felt her shake, and he touched her face worriedly. "Meleth nîn, what frightens you?"

"He reminds me of my father." Eledrin looked nothing like the guard, but the stern anger was exactly the same. "There is a storm upon his face."

He kissed her hair quickly. "Peace, Seveawen. You are safe with me."

"My lord," a new voice cut in. The guard stood before them and bowed briefly to Legolas. "Your father has been waiting for some time."

"Yes, Enfaroth. We are on our way. I simply decided to honor this celebration with my presence."

Enfaroth did not smile. "The King is angry, my lord. He wonders why a mortal walks in his realm without permission."

"Seveawen is with me. We are coming." Legolas's usually soft voice had a knife hidden inside it now. "Now, please, tell my father this. We will set off immediately."

The guard moved to block Legolas, daring to stand in the way of the Prince. "He wishes that she be taken now and brought before him."

Warm smooth hands, unfamiliar and far less gentle than the ones Seveawen was used to, clasped her wrists and bound them together. She glared back over her shoulder at her captor and looked at Legolas, afraid.

"Seveawen's circumstances are unique. She is bound to me, and therefore rightly here. I will explain everything to my father. Unhand her, and she will ride with me to see him."

Watching Enfaroth's expression, Seveawen knew he was caught in a difficult place, struggling to compromise between the orders of his King and the orders of his Prince. Finally, the Elf guard relaxed. "So be it." Then he spoke firm words to someone behind her, and she was released.

Legolas legged her lightly onto Arod's back. "I think it is best if you ride before me," he whispered, settling himself behind her. He kept his arms safely along her hips, holding her close as they set off through the trees.

Seveawen had nearly adjusted to Mirkwood during the daytime, but riding through the thick black forest at night was something completely different. She could not even see her hand in front of her own face, but her love's eyes pierced the blinding darkness as easily as if he were looking through clear water. Hurrying hoofbeats echoed all around them; they were being escorted.

She did not realize how late the Elves had been feasting until, after a moment, she heard Legolas's voice and felt his warm breath against her neck. "Rest, meleth nîn. It will do you no good to be nodding off before the Elven-King. You are safe."

Seveawen let herself drift away and was asleep almost immediately, her head on his shoulder. She dreamed of a glowing warmth within her heart, of sharing her life with her sweet Elvish prince without stealing away his immortality. She dreamed of being carried gently, not realizing that it was day and that she was awake until he set her back on her feet.

Legolas stroked her chin with his finger. "You are awake, Seveawen, yes? We were quite far away in the forest. It seems you have slept well." He kissed her forehead, right on the sensitive spot above her brows. "My father's power is great, and surely he is angry. But I will protect you to the best of my ability."

Still surrounded by guards of Thranduil, he took her hand and led her toward the caves. These openings here, with massive oak doors of Elvish nature, were only the royal entrances. The caves themselves very nearly formed a city of chambers and passageways. Deep inside, the Elven King was waiting.

"This is merely the palace," Legolas whispered as they entered. "Most of our people, myself included, prefer to live in the forest."

To Seveawen's surprise, the corridors were lit warmly and covered with relief designs. The decorations, the archways, were familiar to her from her time with Legolas in Ithilien. It still amazed her sometimes how she felt so much more at home among the Elves than with her own race.

The doors up ahead were not only carved intricately, but inlaid with gem work as well. "My father is very fond of jewels," Legolas whispered, smiling. "You will see." To the two attendants, he simply said, "Non tol," _I am come._

Wide-eyed upon seeing Seveawen but bowing in respect, the attendants opened the doors for them.

Legolas felt her pulse quicken in the fingers laced through his own. "Do not be afraid, meleth nîn. I am with you." He squeezed her hand and led her through the entrance.

Seveawen felt the presence fill the room, much like her father's own suffocating shadow. She was caught between curiosity and respect, wanting to look at the source of the swelling aura but knowing she should bow humbly. She dipped her head and curtsied, trying to keep her eyes down as she rose again.

The presence grew stronger, approaching them, and she quivered nervously as it stopped very, very close.

Burning, tingling fingers lifted Seveawen's chin upwards. Thranduil himself stood before her, impassive yet curious. His face was so strong and fair, so smoothly carved, that she found her eyes wandering from father to son, barely able to tell them apart from brothers.

Legolas caught her eye and smiled. "My father and my king," he said. "Adar, Seveawen Eledriniel, named Morvána by Arwen Evenstar."

Thranduil released the young woman's face and stepped back slightly. The lamplight cast dancing shadows over his crown of woodland adornments and the staff in his hand, the royal silver gems he wore. "You have come to Mirkwood, young maiden."

"Yes, my lord."

"With my son."

"Yes."

Thranduil began to pace, stopping after only a few steps. He looked at Legolas, asking only him. "Why?"

"Seveawen owed me a great debt, so she has accompanied me as I asked. We have since been bound by something far greater." He smiled at his father. "It is much different for us now."

"Friendship," Thranduil assumed.

Legolas and Seveawen exchanged another shy look. "Yes, friendship it is," the Prince agreed. "But it is still special."

Thranduil stiffened as he saw the softness in their eyes. After a moment he muttered, "She is human, and she is young. I do not trust her."

Guards appeared from the darkness and had Seveawen bound instantly. She felt them begin to drag her away before she fully realized it.

"Adar—no!" Legolas tried to free Seveawen from the guards' grips. "No, Adar, please! She brings no harm!"

"Legolas." Everything fell silent at the sound of Thranduil's voice. He spoke to his son solemnly in Elvish, this time in Quenya, the tongue of the High-Elven in Valinor, which Seveawen did not understand. She was dying to see Legolas's face, to follow his expression for a precious clue. But she could only watch the torchlight play tricks over the back of his golden head.

Finally, when his father had finished, Legolas turned back around. He met her eyes mournfully, making her long to cradle him in her arms and chase away his troubles.

"Seveawen…" he whispered, his lovely blue eyes brimming with tears. "I have tried and exhausted my power. Still they must take you away. I have failed you, for I can do nothing more. Will you forgive me?"

Seveawen was allowed to touch his cheek. "Of course. There is no need, meleth nîn. I know," she whispered. "I have struggled against my father much the same way."

Legolas nodded and kissed her fingers. "Yes. They will care for you. Forgive me, aeawen nîn." He was crying. Giving her hand back, he embraced her a final time and pressed his lips briefly to hers before she was led away. Reluctantly, Legolas turned his back and faced his father.


	13. Challenge

Challenge

With the human girl safely away, Thranduil relaxed. He had sensed her connection to Legolas the moment they entered. He had seen the devotion dancing in his son's gaze and the same caring love reflected right back in Seveawen's luminous brown eyes. Thranduil's greatest fear was to lose his son, not to the Undying Lands and the Sea-longing, but to the heart of a mortal and the inevitable finality of Death that came with it.

Legolas met his father's eyes pleadingly. "Adar…" he whispered. "Why? Please, Adar, tell me. She has done nothing."

Thranduil sighed. "You love her."

"Yes, Adar." The tears welled again in Legolas's eyes. "I do."

"You know what happens when an Elf loves a mortal."

"Yes."

His father sighed again, and placed his hand on his son's shoulder. "I will not lose you, _ernilerinion nîn_, my prince of the forest. I cannot."

"She would earn favor with the Valar—"

Thranduil glared at his son. "That is foolish, ernilion nîn. Only the greatest mortals may enter the Undying Lands, and none have yet proved their worth. She cannot go."

"Arwen has seen it, Adar. She has seen the blessing that Seveawen bears. Seveawen is a child of Ilúvatar. The Valar know that she is special."

"It was Lord Elrond who had the gift of foresight. Arwen is not her father."

"Arwen Undómiel is the Queen of Elves and Men, and a descendent of Galadriel and Finrod Felegund and Eärendil, the greatest of the Creator's children. The blood of kings flows through her. I do not doubt her wisdom. If Arwen has recognized the blessing of the Valar, then Seveawen bears it indeed."

"And that alone would earn her passage west?"

"If Seveawen must prove herself to cross, I know she will not fail. Her heart is pure, Adar. Even Aragorn has said so."

Thranduil considered this. Suspicious and wary or not, he still carried the wisdom of passing millennia, the wisdom of the Elves. "The Sea is calling you home, is it not?"

Legolas dropped his gaze. "Yes, Adar. It still echoes with every step I take. Only Seveawen calls to me with more power than the water. That is what drew me to her." He slowly explained Seveawen's past and how they had met, their experiences together. "When I took her into my service, her loyalty and her dedication bordered on sheer stubbornness. She would not let herself sleep or eat before I did. Such willing sacrifice surprised me greatly, for she is but seventeen.

"I knew her as Triraveth for a long time. Even before she revealed her true name to me, I felt something. I was already in love. When Seveawen finally confessed herself, I heard the calling ocean in her name. I see it in everything she is. My heart will never be the same, Adar."

"And you would trust her heart to be faithful? She is human, and a child at that!"

"Seveawen is far from a child. Her heart and her mind are far beyond her years, even for a mortal." Legolas turned back to his father. "Please, Adar. She does not deserve to be imprisoned. She is innocent."

Thranduil was not at all persuaded. "You cannot leave Middle-Earth, Legolas, not yet. The colony of Ithilien is still young and growing. And you are such good friends with the Dwarf."

"Gimli willingly bowed before Galadriel. Because he was so noble and humble, she has secured crossing for him. If a Dwarf may sail to the West and not so true a young woman's heart, then what has become of the fairness and wisdom of our people?" Legolas presented his final argument, opening up the last reaches of his heart. "Seveawen has wept for me, Adar. She is sensitive and her feelings are tender. But she has endured the pain of sorrow, with joy. Seveawen has cried for me. She has willingly shed tears to fill the Anduin, all because of the endless love in her heart. And I have done the same. Seveawen is my forest, my ocean, my Evenstar. Please understand, Adar."

Thranduil began to pity his son, the contented heartache he carried for the sake of a mortal girl. He would release her shortly, that he knew. "Your time here may span a lifetime or more. She is human and will not last without grace."

An idea was beginning to form in his wise mind, a challenge that would let the young maiden prove her worth and earn the acceptance of the Valar. "But… let her carry an Elven star as a life-token. She will have to sacrifice you if she desires life with you. She will have to endure another existence. Only with such faith will the Lords of the West permit her to pass. Should she fail, your time will have come anyway, and you will be healed by the grace of the Holy Ones. If Seveawen's heart proves true, she may cross to the West. Then, my son, you shall have her hand, her heart and her soul."


	14. Freedom

Freedom

Seveawen shivered in the darkness. Listening patiently to the water dripping down a far corner, she did not feel any anger. She felt no remorse or self-pity as she huddled in the damp cold. Elvish or not, she was still in a dungeon. She only longed for a certain someone's warm strength to wrap around her and hold her close to his beating heart. She only wanted her prince.

Whether she slept at all Seveawen could not tell. But she heard a familiar voice in the distance, low and warm, demanding to be let in. She pricked her ears at the sound, hoping and holding her breath. All that followed, however, was silence and the drip-drip-dripping of dank moisture.

Then what was she hearing now? Whispering footsteps, a gate being unlocked—

"Goheno anim, forgive me, meleth nîn…" It was Legolas. He pulled her close and stroked her hair. "I fear you are not free, not yet. But his heart is softening. He will release you soon." His hands traced her shoulders. "You are cold, Seveawen. Here." He produced a lush blanket and wrapped it around her, kissing her forehead. "I will return, meleth nîn, I promise. But I must leave now. You are being guarded." Legolas brushed his lips against hers one last time and slipped away.

From then on, Seveawen was sure she was asleep. She was exhausted from dancing last night—the night before last—whenever it was, from riding, from Thranduil's scrutiny. If one single dream of her prince would have passed before her eyes, she would have been happy. But there was nothing until Seveawen next opened her eyes.

She was given food and water, which she was grateful for. Other than that, she let herself become lost in her own head. Had she really been arrested simply as a human? Or was she truly in violation of Mirkwood law, regardless of her bond of service—now turned love—to Legolas? Try as she might to understand the reasoning of the Elven King, she could not. But Seveawen was only mortal, after all.

Finally, she heard footsteps again, the footsteps she had longed to hear. No sooner had the guards unlocked the door, Legolas slipped inside and swept her into his arms. He had been so distraught trying to gain her freedom, but now that she was free, his heart felt heavy knowing what awaited them at the end of their road.

_Never mind,_ he told himself as he cradled her against his chest. _At least she is safe._ "Meleth nîn… I am so sorry. Goheno anim," he whispered, smelling her sweet hair. "I am here. I am here." He smiled at seeing her lovely face. "There is a room prepared for you. Wash quickly, for my father will see us before we leave. We are expected again in Ithilien."

Seveawen was surprised to be leaving Mirkwood already, but she was somewhat relieved. Aside from the feast and the dance they had shared, there were memories of this place she wished to leave behind.

Legolas sensed this, squeezing her hand. "Do not fear," he said. "This is a good place. You have only known my father, not my people. They welcome you as their prince's beloved."

And so they did. When Seveawen next bowed before Thranduil, it was the King who bent low. "I must ask your forgiveness, young maiden," he said. "We must be strict with who and what may enter the forest realm. Otherwise, Greenwood may again be overrun with evil beasts. My utmost apologies."

Seveawen smiled and kissed the King's hand. They were at peace.

Others of Thranduil's people cheered as Legolas took her hand and proudly kissed her before his father. They dipped their heads briefly, smiling at her with acceptance, knowing that the stars had crowned her as one of their own. Seveawen had won their Prince's heart; she was one of them now.

Arod was brought for them, and the King himself saw them off. He and Legolas both knew of the jewel. It hung around the prince's neck, tucked against his warm chest, and contained the power to make both his and Seveawen's dreams come true, every last one. For his son's sake, Thranduil hoped that the maiden would prove herself true.

"You are mortal," the King whispered to her. "Take no day for granted. May the Valar guide you, child." And as he stepped back, his son and the young woman behind him rode away.

All along the Greenwood Road, the Elves watched them pass. Somehow they knew what was before Seveawen, even if she herself did not. They prayed for her blessing and faith, both for their beloved Prince's sake and her own. Chanting quietly, they said farewell to the mortal who had ensnared one of the Nine Walkers of the Fellowship and had given him her own heart in return.


	15. Heartbreak

Heartbreak

As Arod cantered through the trees, Seveawen caught her breath. Only now had she recognized how close they were to her home. Any moment now, they would surely find the clearing. Even the mist was familiar, the way it shrouded the slender birch trees. Seveawen's clearing was no longer just her own; it belonged to Legolas as well. It had brought them together.

They wandered among the trees for some time while Arod grazed peacefully. Legolas's brow was hard with thought, his eyes distant as he wandered through his mind. He was searching for something.

Seveawen touched his hand. "Tell me, meleth nîn," she said. "You are lost. I can see it."

Legolas sighed. "There is something I must tell you, and I do not know how to say it."

"Just speak, Legolas. I am listening."

Finally he sighed and turned to face her. Her hands were so tiny and slender, fitting so perfectly between his broad warm palms. "Seveawen, my time will come one day. The day will dawn when I am meant to cross the Sea and join my people in our homeland of Valinor. When that day comes, I am hoping that you will come with me."

She was completely and utterly shocked. To sail to the Undying Lands—

"Not as a servant, but as an equal. Seveawen…" Legolas looked into her eyes, rich wood against the sky, as he dropped to his knees before her. "I am asking for your hand in marriage."

Seveawen's mind flashed back to their moonlit confession in the hills of the Emyn Arnen, to their tearful and joyous morning in the White City. She remembered their friendship, their dedication, the tears they had shed for one another and the euphoria they had known. "Legolas," she said, yet again choking on her tears, "you could have asked me in Minas Tirith, and I would have given it. Absolutely yes. I will marry you." She bent to kiss his hair, letting her mouth slip down to meet his as he stood. But to her surprise, Legolas pulled away.

"Seveawen…" He touched her cheek. "It is not that easy, meleth nîn. I must leave you first." His hand steadied her. "I am still needed here. It is not yet my time to cross. That day will not come for many years."

_Arwen… _Seveawen remembered her beloved Queen, and how love often meant giving and giving up. "I do not understand." Her heart twisted sharply. This could not be happening. He had just asked her for her hand. Must they part as soon as their love had blossomed? Must he be taken from her just as she gave her heart?

"Seveawen…" Legolas pulled out a brilliant white jewel on a slender glittering chain. At first glance, it looked almost exactly like the Evenstar pendant that Aragorn wore as Arwen's gift to him, a token of her own love. But she saw it was part sword-star and part leaf in shape, lightly tinted pale iridescent green; Green Leaf, just like the one who gave it to her. "This will keep you. It will give you the grace you need and shield itself from other eyes. Our time apart may span more than a lifetime, Seveawen."

So he truly was leaving her, after all. _More than a lifetime apart. Absolutely yes. I will marry you._ She willed herself not to choke. "I…"

Legolas touched her chin. "You have a life in your village, too, meleth nîn. Live your life here, and I will come for you. Keep this close."

She nodded. "Yes." She had always known that any bond formed between an Elf and a mortal would be challenged, but she had been so lost in her happiness that she had forgotten. Every second passing was a second less with her prince. Somehow, her mind still accepted all this with ease. "I will wait for you," she choked.

He smiled. "Now listen to me. You must become an old woman one day. You must live your life while I am gone. But you will not feel aged. Then you will hear tell of a silver ship on the Anduin, and then your bones will speak. That very night when you go to rest, think of me as you open this jewel. Drink its water and go to sleep. During the night, you will be freed, the part inside that is as you are now. Come here to our special place, and I will find you."

Seveawen knew his words were true. It was an Elven jewel, after all; its power was not to be doubted. She was not worried about that. It was something else. "Legolas, you know what is expected of me here. I must be true to Ohtar as his wife. How can I, when my heart is with you?"

Legolas smiled forgivingly. "You love all beings, Seveawen. Love him as you do any creature. The reaches of one's heart can never truly be filled."

"But… then I cannot save myself for you." Her cheeks flamed scarlet as she spoke of her own virginity.

It did not seem to faze him. His fingers gently closed her hand reassuringly around the jewel. "Everything will be as it once was." He carefully clasped the chain around her neck and brushed her hair back into place with his hand.

"Then you must have this." Seveawen reached into her bodice and pulled out a large man's ring, artfully swirled of dark iron, which she wore around her neck. It was the only thing of Corerith's that she still possessed. "My mother had a young lover, too. He gave her this when she was made to marry my father. They hoped that someday, Death would finally allow them to join hands. She then passed it to me."

Legolas took it and kissed it, slipping the leather string over his head. "Always," he promised. It was still warm from lying between her breasts, the cord lightly scented with her skin.

Seveawen kissed his hand, crying as he settled his forehead against hers. "I will return, meleth nîn," he vowed. "I cannot leave you. You are within me now."

"As are you," she whispered. "You have everything I am."

Legolas inched closer, one last time. "My forest, my ocean, my Evenstar. My calling Sea." He opened her mouth gently and slipped in, smoothing his farewells to the deepest parts of her soul. Under his hands, she pressed herself against his body, letting him feel her shape and remember it. They had to end this soon, before they lost control. It would never feel right. Seveawen had to simply endure the pain, say goodbye to Arod and her prince, and walk away.

"Amarth aman, urenesse nîn," he murmured. _Blessed fate, forever in my heart._ "Goheno anim, aeawen." _Forgive me, sea maiden._

"Non nan le," she whispered back. "I am with you."

"I love you," he replied simply, gently finding her lips again. "Le melon. Namarië, oimeleth nîn." _Farewell, my forever love._

And when Seveawen opened her eyes again, she was alone.


	16. Future

Future

"Seveawen!"

She looked up in surprise at the figure running towards her. Coming closer, she saw that it was Ohtar.

"Seveawen…" He caught her in his arms and hugged her. "You're alive! I was so afraid for you. No one knew what happened. I could not even convince your father to send dogs out to search." Ohtar kissed her forehead, and she immediately noticed that the sensation was different. "Thank goodness you are safe."

"Yes. I am safe. I've come back." Seveawen remembered her promise to Legolas, smiling. She noticed Ohtar's caring grey eyes and dark hair pulled back, so typical of Gondor, and that he was dressed uncommonly well for a peasant.

Ohtar smiled at her and touched her cheek. "We have always been friends, haven't we?"

"Yes." She was quiet.

He sighed. "I do not think Eledrin lost a single night's sleep over this. He was indifferent to your disappearance: 'The day she returns is her wedding day, if she returns at all.' " He looked at her softly. "I do believe Eledrin wants us married immediately, if he even cares anymore. Come with me."

Seveawen let him take her hand. As they neared the village, it did not begin to feel even the slightest bit like her true home. After hidden forest cities and the white stone tower of Minas Tirith, fences and thatched roofs, pastures and gardens all felt wrong, like she had wandered west into the Shire lands of the Halfling folk against Elessar's decree.

Raweth saw her stepdaughter coming and hurried out of the cottage, arms swathed in fine white fabric. "Hurry!" she demanded with no other words of greeting, wrenching Seveawen's ear and pulling her back inside. "Ohtar, go away and get ready. You've cursed yourself to have already seen her this morning."

So today was her wedding day. It was ironic that she had promised herself to Legolas just that morning. Seveawen obligingly slipped the white dress over her head. It was simple, but cut for a wild, sweet fairy queen. She sat and winced while Raweth twisted the last of the autumn flowers in her hair, not particularly caring how hard she pulled Seveawen's scalp. Under her gown, the Elven jewel hid itself well. Not even Ohtar would notice it.

Finally, Raweth declared her stepdaughter to be a decent-looking bride, just as Eledrin entered the room. He said nothing of her reappearance or even her existence, only grunting as he inspected her with his eyes and guided her roughly out of the cottage.

The whole village must have been at the ready with ale and banners and flower petals, waiting for Seveawen's return. They were assembling in the field, the same as any other village wedding, to give their blessings and cheer for the young couple. Ohtar was already there, eyes searching for his bride.

He saw her and smiled, enjoying the sight of his bride as she was led through the crowd. Seveawen felt herself return the light as she looked around, seeing only a certain someone and hearing the voice of her sweet prince: _I cannot leave you. You are within me now. Love him as you love any… The reaches of one's heart can never truly be filled. I will return, my love, my calling sea. I will find you._

She took a deep breath, remembering his promise, and took Ohtar's hand.


	17. He Will Return

_The pendant is alive. There is a star inside, the very depth and strength of love itself. It keeps him close, even as I share my life with my husband. The jewel's time has not yet come. It waits, it glows, it pulses with the power inside. He is beside me._

_Time passes. I live my life as I must. I have borne and raised our children. I have watched them marry. I have birthed countless others, year after year of new life. I have seen the generations unfold before me. Some years go quickly; others stretch far beyond the horizon. The memories of him that I hold so dear keep me here and quiet my crying heart until our time comes. But I have kept the promises I made to him._

_I am waiting._


	18. Now: Release

Now

Release

Old Seveawen caught herself weeping in a corner of the cottage. Brushing away her tears, she knew why. She had cried when Ohtar passed and was buried, for he was her friend and husband, if not truly her lover. Their marriage had still been successful, and she knew he would meet his one perfect soul when he was finally at rest. She had wept endlessly at the news of Elessar's death, at the ending of one so noble and great. Even more tears had come as she remembered the fate that awaited Lady Undómiel. Then she had thought of the jewel around her neck, the power of such a bond. Aragorn and Arwen were happy with their choice, and she with hers. She had cried for remembering Legolas and the token she wore of his love, his heart that she possessed in return for hers, the promises they had exchanged long ago and the rumor that she had heard that day.

The jewel's time was coming.

Still alone, Seveawen peered at her reflection in a pail of water. She had aged, her skin like a withered nut and her hair gone snow white—Elven white. No one in the village could remember how old Seveawen was, save that Duryn was her descendent and that the elder woman had birthed hundreds of village children and healed even more, the wisest and oldest of all the village folk. Their time apart had spanned exactly the way Legolas had foretold: a lifetime.

Her great-great-grandson, as only Seveawen remembered, watched her curiously as they ate their evening meal. "Waredith says there's quite a tale passing along in gossip. A grey Elven ship?"

"So they say," his wife murmured.

"That is what we have heard. It is merely a rumor." Seveawen winced inside, knowing what it was, but she had to play her part. "It may very well be a group of Elves crossing to the West. Not all have set sail from the Grey Havens." She knew exactly who was on that ship, what his purpose was, and it made the pendant feel slightly heavier. The jewel knew as well, and it was awakening.

That night, Legolas's voice played in her head as Seveawen held the jewel in her hands. _My forest, my ocean, my Evenstar, maiden of the western sea. My people, we are nearly ageless_. _When something, someone, calls to us that deeply… we are never again the same. My people's homeland cries out to me and begs for me to return. I hear the sea in your name, Seveawen, in everything you are. You are my ocean now. Think of me as you open this… drink its water… you will be freed. I will find you._

She remembered him, his sweet kiss, his strong embrace, his care and kindness, the joy they felt beside one another. She remembered how he had saved her life and watched over her as she slept, how he had pleaded with his father to release her, their curiosity and attraction that first morning in their clearing and their endless friendship. Seveawen lifted the jewel to her lips and drank.

It tingled as it went down, icy like peppermint and fiery like strong liquor. The taste was like fresh cold water, but with the green grassy taste of summer wind. Then it settled, and the old woman's eyes began to close.

Old Seveawen pulled her quilt tighter around her and drifted off, seeing only her sweet prince in her mind until everything went black.

It was said that Old Seveawen died in her sleep that night.

Folk even commented on how thin and frail she had looked as she was buried, even though she had lived for so long. But the funeral was merely for a shell. Seveawen herself was free.

When she opened her eyes, there was someone else lying next to her. It was an old woman with the same wide brown eyes, her body growing cold, a beautiful Elvish jewel clutched in her fingers.

Quietly, Seveawen took the jewel back and clasped it around her neck. She rummaged around for the clothing she had worn as a young woman, the ones he would remember, and eagerly shielded her naked skin from the cool darkness.

Duryn and Waredith were sleeping peacefully in the next room. Seveawen kissed her grandson's grandson goodbye and did the same to her daughter-in-law, lingering. She and Waredith had always been close. The young woman had also been blessed with the same dark brown hair that was common nowadays in Southern Gondor. Seveawen had a sneaking suspicion that Waredith might be pregnant, and she kissed her face again. Then Seveawen said her last goodbyes to her village and slipped away.

The only thing about this journey that saddened her was leaving their clearing, for all it held for her. And she would have loved to ride throughout Middle-Earth just once, to see Rohan and Lórien, Rivendell and the magical forest of Fangorn and, with Aragorn's permission—except that his son Eldarion now ruled Gondor—the Shire. But surely Legolas could tell her of these lands during their many days together that had not yet come to pass.

By the time she reached their clearing, Seveawen was tiring. Her strength had been compromised by time and age and the Elvish potion. In the corner of the clearing closest to the bluffs where she had fallen so many years ago, several birches had grown into one massive tree. Here she curled up and leaned back against the cup of its trunk. Did the birds sing this way in Valinor? How much different was it there from Middle-Earth?

And so Seveawen slept again.


	19. Last Sight

Last Sight

Legolas scanned the riverbank with his eyes. He could see through the stretch of forest easily. There was a certain spot he was looking for, the edge of the bluffs and the bed of moss where he had once found her. That area would again lead him to his precious sea maiden.

Gimli watched him, smoking his pipe nonchalantly and blowing artful rings of smoke in his friend's direction. "Are we there yet, Master Elf?"

Legolas smiled. "Not quite, Gimli, not quite. Soon, mellon nîn." He began to ease the ship over toward the riverbank. It settled with a long satisfying thud as he leaped out and moored it skillfully to a rock. "I will find her. Wait here, Gimli."

Gimli took another drag of pipe-weed. "I cannot sail, Master Elf," he called. "I do not think I will be going anywhere."

Legolas scampered lightly up the bluffs to the clearing, his eyes thoroughly searching each and every tree. He smiled as he saw her curled up so peacefully asleep. She looked exactly the way she had a century ago. It was special in his memory, this place. He had first seen her here, wandering through the trees. Legolas almost regretted leaving this place, the way he would miss the forests of Ithilien and Mirkwood. But he was finally sailing home over the Sea, with his ocean maiden by his side.

Seveawen barely stirred as he lifted her tenderly. She needed time for her body to recover from such a magical ordeal. At just one touch, his skin flared alive again, just to hold her in his arms. Oh, Elbereth, how his heart had ached all these past one hundred years. Taking great care to be especially fluid in his steps, Legolas began to make his way back down to the ship. He smiled at her lovely face, eyes closed serenely, as her dark _lebethron_ hair fanned out over his shoulder.

His friend watched him as he carried her toward the ship. "Is that her, lad?"

Legolas smiled as he gently laid her in the boat. "Yes, mellon nîn. This is Seveawen."

Gimli had once sworn that none other than Galadriel and Galadriel only would he ever call fair. But as he watched the young woman's lovely smooth brow, he shrugged as he found himself grunting, "She's pretty." After all, he had listened to countless stories and descriptions of her while Legolas had patiently finished his duties alongside his good friend.

Seveawen's head gently moved with the bobbing of the water, but she was not fully awake. Her eyes did open somewhat, not even enough to fully see the third passenger. She simply smiled in her haze and went back to sleep.

It was not a fast journey. Even on a sleek Elvish ship that sailed quickly through the water, it would be days until they even reached the ocean. Legolas watched over her sometimes, merely resting in his mind, other times curling up close beside her. Valar, how he had missed her. Whenever the pain of the Sea-longing became too great, Legolas simply remembered their journey. He thought of the happiness they shared in one another's presence, those starlit eyes, their friendship and laughter, how perfectly she fit into his arms. He remembered her warmth, her smell, his desire to hold her close and the intimacy of their bond. He remembered how she had called to him like the Sea itself and how long they had each suffered to keep their feelings silent. Then he could bear to stay, nearly drawn back to that little village to find her and take her away before their time had come. His heart had nearly torn in half, but he could bear it.

Finally the grey ship slipped out of the Anduin and into the Bay of Belfalas. Legolas leaped out and briefly moored the craft before it passed the shore. "Seveawen," he whispered, gently stirring her with his touch. "Wake up. Rise and look around you. We are at the edge of Middle-Earth."

She opened her eyes and was finally aware for the first time. The promise had come true. Her prince was by her side again. "Legolas," she sighed, relieved, and pulled him close to her. Oh, how she had longed for him. To be with him once more was like falling in love all over again, but rich with precious memories coming back to life. Seveawen would not be content until she breathed her fill of his warm skin, his hard strength still gentle around her and that soft hair mixing with her own and brushing over her face. "Finally, meleth nîn. I missed you so much."

"My forest," he whispered against her ear in reply, "my ocean, my Evenstar, my calling Sea. Never once have I doubted your faith, Seveawen. Never once."

"Neither have I," Seveawen murmured into his neck. "I knew you would return."

Finally they could bear to let go. Legolas's eyes drifted out to the water as they did. "Ah, the Sea," he sighed. "I hear its song and feel its pulse. It is calling! It is calling to me! The salt, the spray, the rhythm of the tide. Is it not beautiful?" His eyes began to fill with tears as he clutched her hands to his chest. "I am coming," he whispered. "We are coming home."

Seveawen touched his face. "The more we linger, the more you suffer, Legolas," she said. "Let us sail away. It will quiet your heart."

Legolas smiled and kissed her temple. "My heart has been quieted, meleth nîn," he replied, twirling a strand of dark hair around his finger. "It the Sea that cries out so deeply to me now."

"Then let us go. It hurts me to see you ache so badly."

He sighed and turned back. "Look," he said. "It is our last view of Middle-Earth. Over those mountains there lies so much. Rohan and the Shire, Imladris and the Golden Wood. Ithilien and Mirkwood have been repaired. Perhaps someday Mordor will heal as well." His eyes fell and his voice saddened. "Somewhere over those mountains lies Aragorn at rest."

"I heard there were two Halflings buried with him. A Took and a Brandybuck."

"Pippin and Merry." Legolas smiled. "We are the last of the Fellowship, Gimli and I. Boromir was taken by Orcs of the fighting Uruk-hai at Amon Hen shortly after we left Lothlórien. Frodo passed to the Havens with Gandalf Mithrandir long ago, and Sam has followed him since. Merry, Pippin and Aragorn are at rest side by side. Only the Elf and the Dwarf remain, their time of crossing upon them. And with them sails Seveawen Faithful, Morvána Star-Blessed, Lady of the Silver Birches and forever beloved of the Prince of Mirkwood." He smiled. "Would Arwen have been proud of such words for you?"

Suddenly Seveawen found herself laughing for the first time in many years. As she did, her whole being lit like a brilliant star, her eyes and her smile silver-gold with joy. "Yes, Legolas. She would."

"And does a Dwarf deserve nothing?"

They turned at the sound of the gruff voice. Seveawen smiled again at the Dwarf behind them, his thick red beard braided and arranged importantly before him. "Forgive me, sir," she said. "You must be Gimli."

Gimli harrumphed, but chuckled. "Indeed, my lady. But I feel I must protest. You have stolen away my good friend!"

Seveawen laughed. "Indeed I have." Suddenly solemn, she looked back one last time at her mortal homeland. It was time to go. Then she followed the Dwarf slowly back to the ship. Legolas untied the mooring rope and slipped in beside her as the sea began to carry them west.


	20. Welcome

Welcome

Seveawen still slept most of the voyage. Then she felt Legolas's warm hand on her face, stroking her cheek. "Seveawen," he whispered. "Open your eyes. You do not want to miss this."

She sat up and scanned the coastline, speechless. Valinor, the Blessed Realm, was welcoming them from across the water. All was green, laced with high snowy mountains like the thrones of the Valar themselves and pocketed with forest. This was no realm of the Elves, but a breathtaking, glittering jewel of emerald and amber and sapphire and silver mithril. Finally tearing her gaze away, she quickly glanced at Legolas and kissed his hand to comfort him, for he was crying.

As the ship slipped into the bay, Seveawen's awe disappeared in favor of fear and dread. Surely she must first enter Máhanaxar, the Ring of Doom, and face the Council of the Valar. But she remembered Arwen's words: _I know you well, for I have seen you. You are blessed among the Eldar. I sense that the will of the Valar is in both your favor._

There were many figures waiting for them at the edge of the water. Most were tall, draped elegantly in Elven robes, but as the ship neared, Seveawen saw two small figures as well. They had pointed ears like Elves, but were curly-haired with large feet and dressed like fine country gentlemen. With them was a wizard robed in silver—Gandalf the White, called Mithrandir, Grey Pilgrim, by the Elves.

As Seveawen watched, in awe of the fairness and might before her, Legolas first helped Gimli onto the landing. "My Lady Galadriel," the Dwarf said reverently, bowing before one of the graceful Elven figures.

Galadriel smiled, her bottomless blue eyes sparkling with wisdom and joy. The Lady of Light was aptly called so; she glowed lovely and radiant as she greeted them. "Welcome Elf-friend, Gimli son of Glóin." She gently kissed the Dwarf's forehead. Then her noble gaze found the dark-haired young woman behind him. "Seveawen Faithful," Galadriel said.

Seveawen dipped her head and bowed.

The Lady brought her gaze upward with a gentle touch. "Sinome nalye mantielvo," she said in Quenya High-Elven, _you are welcome in this place._ "Pure and worthy is your heart, my daughter. It has proved so. Morvána Celebrithil is greatly expected and welcomed with honor. Come and rest. Your strength will grow with time."

Seveawen thanked her before turning to the lord and lady beside her. This was Elrond son of Eärendil and father of Arwen Evenstar; the woman beside him must be Celebrian, her pale hair flowing like streamers of white-gold silk. She, too, had waited many years for her husband in the Blessed Realm after taking a poisoned Orc-wound and crossing west to heal. But their daughter would never join them, for her heart was given wholly to Aragorn, and his time of passing had come upon him. Seveawen wished to speak words of comfort to them. There is rarely anything a mortal can say to soothe the aching heart of an Elf, but still she tried.

"Arwen has long known of our fate, my lord and lady," she said softly to them. "I fear her time is fading, but it has not been in vain. All my life have I known her as my Queen. Her grace shall be long remembered."

Elrond smiled gently, but still sorrowfully. "She has made her choice," he said. "Arwen has been lost to us, but what she has gained, if only for a time, is beyond measure. The Evenstar is at peace."

Celebrian took Seveawen's hands in hers. "I know well of her decision," she said, "but we are happy for what she has shared with Elessar. Thank you for your words, as they bring great kindness. Now please," she said, gesturing to the side, "you are weary. You must rest."

Seveawen did feel the weight in her body. She smiled and nodded gratefully as Legolas touched her shoulder. "Come," he said softly as he guided her along. "It will take time for you to take in the strength that the Blessed Realm provides. Here. You are fading again…" He gently lifted her into his arms and began to carry her away.

There had been a definite pattern, Seveawen noticed, with her strength. She had managed to wake and be alert for a short time before slipping back into dark nighttime again. The blackness of fatigue was washing over her now, a queer tangible tide that took the body by storm and quickly shut away all the senses.

She reached up and felt his hair weakly with her fingertips. "Legolas…" Before she passed out and slept again, she had one single question that was burning for an answer. "Am I alive or dead?"

He cradled her head gently in his palm. "You are very much alive. Indeed, you are past mortality. Seveawen, meleth nîn," he whispered, "you are one of the Eldar now."

When Seveawen next awoke, she was sure it was the last time.

Lying limply upon the bed as it pulled her deeper into its peaceful warmth that reminded her so much of a certain someone, she felt her fingers twitch. She felt an urge to get up and stretch her legs. After a while, she finally convinced herself to rise and walk around. She wore only her sleep shift. The realization sent a thrilling blush through her blood as she thought that most likely Legolas had taken her dress off.

Next to the bed, a plate of bread wafers sat quietly. A note was on top—_These are lembas, Elvish waybread. They will give you strength._ It was signed with the character _lambe _ , for Legolas, swirled tenderly across the paper.

Seveawen smiled. She had not realized until now that she was hungry. Curiously, she bit into one of the crisp cakes, only to find out that its center was soft and lightly sweet. The taste of Elvish food was still new to her.

When she finished, shortly afterward with the unusually filling bread, Seveawen simply wandered around the open, airy bedroom. There was a large mirror there, and she peered into it curiously. She was alive and beyond mortality, Legolas had said. But what did that mean? Seveawen was one hundred and seventeen years old. Did she still look seventeen? _Everything will be as it once was,_ he had told her.

Those particular words brought the color back to her cheeks as she realized furthermore what that promise had meant. Certain things had definitely happened between her and Ohtar, for their marriage had given them five children. Seveawen could even remember their names: Idril, Mirwen, Faelivren, Dírhael and Aldaron, two daughters and three sons. But the events that had brought their children to be were nowhere to be found in her memory. She smiled. If the Valar would permit Legolas to bond with her once and for all, then she could give in to her husband's tender seduction as if the past century of their lives had never happened. She could still give him her maidenhood.

Seveawen brought her mind back to her present dilemma. Legolas's words still offered her no hint as to what exactly she was at the moment. He had said that she was one of the Eldar now. Did that mean she was an Elf?

Peering into the mirror, she swept back a curtain of dark, still-wavy _lebethron _hair with her hand. Her ear looked the same as it had always been, round instead of pointed at the top. It clearly said that she was human. But Seveawen had become Elf-like in some ways as well. Age had not at all marred her fawn-like skin with any faint reminders of the wrinkles she had once worn; in fact, it glowed in a new, even smoother way, her lips full and healthy. She did look different. Yet she was still the same. Her brown eyes were now bottomless and deep, large, lushly fringed and as luminous as they had ever been. They had captivated Ohtar for fifty-odd years and otherwise had not changed in an entire century. _Like starlit water,_ Legolas had described them, for her eyes had so captured his heart. Even at their parting, they had still been breathtaking. But she noticed that at the edge of her irises, they were now ever-so-slightly tinged with green.

Seveawen stepped back, feeling her limbs go heavy again. She knew from experience that it was only a matter of moments until the rest of her body followed suit. It would do no good for her to be found passed out asleep on the floor. She quickly buried herself back under the blankets as the blackness claimed her once more.


	21. One

One

The two hobbits refused to move from their vigil. Perhaps this time her strength would be permanent; she had eaten of the _lembas_ by her bedside. Unfortunately, Legolas could not be with her now. The noble warrior could not watch over his beloved sea maiden while she slept, as he so loved to do. Somewhere in Valimar, the city of the mighty Valar, he knelt humbly before them in the center of Máhanaxar and asked for her hand. Somewhere, he was fighting his last battle for the one thing he still desired with his heart and soul.

"They'll let her marry him, won't they, Mr. Frodo? She waited a hundred years for him, after all. They let her cross the Sea, too, after all that. Strange powerful, these Elves. They healed you and made me young again, just like they did old Mr. Bilbo. They'll let them wed, don't you say?"

Frodo turned his gaze to the sleeping woman, hiding in a pool of dark hair. "I don't know, Sam, I just don't know. But I do hope so." He sighed. "She's so lovely, isn't she?"

"Aye, Mr. Frodo. But not as fair as my Elanor, though," Sam defended his daughter.

The young woman in question stirred and opened her eyes to see the two Halflings watching her. "Oh!" she said. Seveawen sat up quickly and tried to brush the hair out of her eyes. Her face was free, but she only further mangled her hair. "You must be Frodo and Samwise."

"That's us. Begging your pardon, miss," Sam apologized. He tottered across the bed, barely taller standing than Seveawen was sitting. "We weren't spying on you or nothing. It's just that Legolas was gone, and you were so tired—" He settled himself awkwardly on Seveawen's pillow and began to untangle her hair. "You slept hard, that you did. I've two girls back in the Shire, and when they were little, they'd wake up with their locks terrible snarled. Ma and Pa, the wife Rosie and I, we'd smooth 'em straight and put ribbons in their hair, we did."

Frodo laughed at his friend's babbling. "Take a breath, Sam!" he said. "She's just woken up. You'd best not tire her out all over again." His smiling eyes—deep blue, very nearly an Elvish blue—found Sam's patient subject. "How do you feel, Seveawen?"

She considered, drawing her knees up to her chest. "Rather well. I don't know if I'll fall asleep again. But I'm ready to stay awake."

The wise little Ringbearer smiled again. "I was tired, too, when I came. But you've gone through much more than I did, haven't you?"

Seveawen sighed. "I suppose so." His words peaked her interest with the tales behind them. "Please, do tell me about it. I am listening.

So Frodo began, with Sam filling in here and there as they wove their story form the beginning. Seveawen remained awake this time, fully rested and strengthened by the power of the Blessed Realm. Just as they were reaching Weathertop with Aragorn, the Black Riders close behind them, the door creaked open, and long robes brushed against the floor.

Both hobbits' faces lit up. "Gandalf!"

Laughing, the wizard settled himself beside the bed. "I see the Misters Baggins and Gamgee have kept careful watch for the Prince. And you are awake, dear girl! Unless, of course, their tales have tired you out all over again."

More heavy feet scuffled across the floor behind Gandalf. "She's awake!" the gruff voice declared from behind its owner's red beard.

Seveawen stared in shock. Who would have expected this? It certainly came as a surprise to her. She barely knew anyone, but here these complete strangers were eager to surround her and welcome her. Perhaps she had slept so long that they had simply become worried. Seveawen was not used to such a surfeit of positive attention, let alone being at its very center, and it felt odd.

Frodo smiled. "This is just like when I woke up back in the White City," he said. "The last I remembered, we had just cast away the Ring, and Gollum with it. But the nasty little bugger took my finger. Sam and I, we were clinging to a rock in the river of fire, and Gandalf came and rescued us with Gwaihir—"

"An old friend of mine," the wizard explained, "and a very powerful one. He is the mighty Lord of Eagles. But I beg your pardon. Please continue, Frodo."

"We were both exhausted, but poor Mr. Frodo here was slipping away. We were all together when he woke, Merry and Pippin, Aragorn and Gandalf and Legolas, even Gimli. But for the longest time, nobody had any idea if he was going to make it. Mr. Frodo even said so—'I'm glad you're with me, Sam, here at the end of all things.' Didn't he, Mr. Gandalf?"

Gandalf smiled and smoked his pipe in the affirmative. "And here we are again," he said, "at the end of all things. The last of the Fellowship of the Ring have finally departed from Middle-Earth."

"And alas, we are missing four of them here," yet another voice murmured. Familiar hands slipped gently over Seveawen's eyes, long warm fingers and familiar broad palms closing her in a moment of darkness. She stiffened, half in surprise and half in pleasure, as soft lips nuzzled her neck. Strands of fair hair fell over her shoulders form behind. Gentle arms holding her close to their owner's chest, the lips traced their way slowly to hers.

Seveawen blushed to be kissed before such a close audience, but her hands suddenly hungered to feel the soft weight of his hair. She ran her fingers around his neck eagerly. And that delicious swirling aroma of his skin…

"Save it, lad," Gimli mumbled.

Legolas was not finished. He squeezed Seveawen tighter and ran his hands over her back. "Finally," he whispered. "You are strong now. I missed you so—"

"Legolas!" Gandalf barked. He needed the Elf's attention, _now_. "What are you even doing here? You are not supposed to see her before the wedding!"

Everything stopped and seemed to stare at them. "The… wedding?" Seveawen found herself repeating stupidly.

Legolas smiled at her. He had no need to wonder how Gandalf had known. "The Valar have willed it," he whispered, kissing Seveawen's cheek.

She gasped and threw her arms around him. They would at last be permitted to wed. "Yes," she breathed. "Finally! My hand is already yours, meleth nîn."

"I know. I am holding it now, just as I have held it for a century and then some. I will be waiting." Legolas slipped back down her neck and kissed her skin one last time.

"Go!" the wizard commanded, all but chasing Legolas from the room. "You will have her soon enough." His robes swept the floor as he gestured to the others in the room. "Out, all of you! Let the bride be in peace!" Following his own words, Gandalf left as well.

Two Elf-women watched him go as they slipped inside. One carried something white, the other something blue, flowing fabric draped over their arms. The first smiled at Seveawen. "Oimelissë en-ernil," she said, _eternal beloved of the Prince_. They were there to help her dress.

Seveawen had merely felt indifferent to her human wedding, as she now referred to it in her memory. But as the white Elvish gown settled over her body, it took her breath away. The cut was just as simple, but far more elaborate and elegant, crusted with what felt like beadwork. She stared at the snowy, swan-like fabric across her breastbone and its drape against the floor. It was all so… graceful. Fair. Glowing. Regal, even. She had long ago accepted the fact that she was attractive, but seeing herself transformed into an Elven bride came as a shock—that, and the ease with which she could move. Seveawen had always struggled to wrangle her layers of homespun peasant skirts. Her legs were completely covered with flowing Elvish cloth, yet the material willingly allowed her to step about as she needed. Even the wide sleeves of the blue robe draped over her shoulders cooperated.

She looked in the mirror. Was this radiant, dark-eyed beauty what Legolas had seen inside of her all along? Human beauty was not supposed to be the same as the fairness of the Eldar. Seveawen had lived her village life in grays, dull blues and dingy-colored linens. She had never envisioned herself draped with glowing white and waterfall blue, but with the Elvish colors settled against her tawny skin, she absolutely glimmered.

Nimble fingers began probing for locks of Seveawen's hair. They quickly twisted and braided the strands into some intricate Elvish work of art before placing a circlet of mithril on her head. It bore a green gem that lay gently against her forehead and further celebrated her beauty. The leaf-jewel from Legolas still hung around Seveawen's neck, fully pulsing and shimmering with warmth.

It was time.

Seveawen breathed deeply, step by step, as the two Elf-women led her along through corridors and halls, past courtyards and balconies. Finally, they came to a terrace above the ocean, crowded with Elves and two familiar hobbits, a wizard and a Dwarf. She smiled. It was so fitting that Legolas could marry his beloved sea maiden overlooking the water.

The crowd silenced as Seveawen appeared, many offering shy, proud smiles of encouragement. Elrond and Celebrian were there, Galadriel and her husband Lord Celeborn, and the rest of the Fellowship. A third hobbit had joined Frodo and Sam—undoubtedly Bilbo Baggins, the discoverer of the Ring.

Fierce blue warrior eyes, soft with love, caught hers and held them gently. Legolas's lips curled into that familiar smile as he watched Seveawen. She was as perfect as she had ever been, and he savored the lovely sight of his bride. A century they had waited, left handing and suspended by time and circumstance, tantalized by Arwen's words of foresight. Now, with the will and permission of the Valar and all the blessings of the stars and Elbereth herself, they were finally ready to join their souls as one.

Seveawen felt something brush against her dress and touch her fingers. She looked down in surprise to see Frodo at her feet, not even as tall as her elbow. "Let me take your hand," he said. "I will walk with you."

She did, and with countless eyes upon them, the Ringbearer slowly escorted her along. Many smiled to see a Halfling guiding so stunning a human bride toward her Elven bridegroom. Across the terrace, under the small tree that stood guard over the Sea, the lords Elrond and Celeborn waited beside Seveawen's husband-to-be.

Seveawen finally dared to look at Legolas. He shimmered in the cool sunlight, his silver-blue tunic nearly as alive as those eyes. Oh, he was so amazingly beautiful. A breeze played with his hair, fanning it across his shoulders and scattering strands form the braids behind his years. Just as when she had seen him amid the misty birch trees that wondrous morning so long ago, he left her speechless with his grace, his kindness, his intensity and devotion as she stopped beside him. In just a matter of moments, she would be his.

Frodo smiled up at her, squeezed her fingertips, and backed away.

Celeborn took Legolas's and Seveawen's hands and joined them under his. He spoke solemnly in Quenya High-Elven, and Legolas softly translated the words in his bride's ear.

_Ta ná indomi__ë en-Valar i-Ainur_

_Enta vesta-ner-lyë._

_Nailye almárëa al melm__ë ar-alassë_

_Sailye o-linyenwa halya._

_Lai melmë, vanda ar-oifeaverë_

_Tenn'oio helye macavára nilda_

_Ar nië alya Ilúvatar Eru ar maranwë i-eleni._

_Naihanya nelye oilehtyë_

_Ta ná indomië i-Valar._

_It is the will of the Valar, the Holy Ones,_

_That you are wed._

_May you be blessed with love and joy,_

_May you have many long years together._

_Praise love, promise and forever soul-bond,_

_Always hold one another lovingly,_

_And be blessed by the All-Father Creator and the stars._

_May it be known that you are joined forever_

_It is the will of the Valar._

Elrond stepped next to Seveawen and translated for her as Legolas began to speak his vows.

_Vanden esseva Ilú__vatar ar-Ainur:_

_Ile velen_

_Ar oi-ahyen._

_Indo nîn nyare ile ne raxë i-qualmë_

_Melë Eldarinwa indo nîn _

_Ar engile selyen._

_Meldeiltë nildë,henyen nelye ile marta_

_Maruvelye an etulessë ar voríma indo_

_Lartaë, láhehtaë._

_Nólë, voronwë, afelmë, méla, vanessë ilë_

_Merë, vandal ar feaverë nîn, melissë sinquelë._

_Nalye airë nîn, taurë nîn, adúnelen nîn._

_Nie vessë nîn, an oiharye melm__ë._

_I swear in the name of the Creator and the Holy Ones:_

_I saw you and I changed forever._

_My heart said you were in danger of death, _

_My loving Elvish heart, _

_And that I must save you._

_Beloved friend, I knew you were fated for me._

_You awaited my return with a faithful heart,_

_Enduring, never forsaking._

_Your wisdom, loyalty, compassion, affection, beauty_

_My desire, promise and bond, my beloved._

_You are my sea, my forest, my Evenstar._

_Be my wife, for you forever have my love._

It happened very quickly, but Seveawen then noticed the ring on her hand. She had not even felt it. The green stone, suitably leaf-shaped for Legolas's namesake, glittered in its setting with tiny strands of mithril swirled across it for the waves of the Sea. On either side, white gems glittered like the stars above, so highly beloved by the Elves. She expected to see a similar band on his hand as well, engraved with the pattern of the tide, the stone an arrowhead for his home in the woodland realm. But the ring he wore as a symbol of her heart was not jeweled or even of mithril for a prince. It was the iron ring she had given him at their parting. Different and beautiful in its storm-grey simplicity, it was much more fitting for a hunter, a warrior, and a Walker of the Fellowship. The swirls perfectly captured the allure of the Sea, the Sea he saw within her. It was a reminder of the sacrifice they had both made for the sake of their love and their chance at union, a reminder of a century past. He still wore her heart on his hand for all to see.

Legolas tenderly brushed away a tear that fell down Seveawen's cheek. He did not want to see her cry, not today of all days, not now when he gave her his heart with joy. "Le melon," he whispered in Sindarin. "Do not cry. I am here, Seveawen."

Collecting herself, Seveawen looked up at him and began to speak. With every vow she made, Elrond repeated in Quenya for all to hear and understand.

_Vanden esseva Ilúvatar ar-Ainur:_

_Tenn'oio le melon, lissëharyon nîn, _

_M__eldo nîn, meldielto nîn, mirë ar eressë nîn_

_Coranen i-haran er maruven_

_Nar úqua vicana a oirë ar-le_

_Nira orë nîn nanta_

_An yes ile oirë hanyan_

_Hlare óma nîn, chebe quávë nîn, ar iste sa ilë oirë nan._

_I swear in the name of the Creator and the Holy Ones:_

_I have always loved you, my sweet prince, _

_My friend, my beloved, my one and only._

_Those hundred years I waited alone_

_Are nothing beside eternity without you._

_I give my heart willingly,_

_For it has always belonged to you._

_Hear my voice, take my hand, and know that I am forever yours._

The couple having spoken their vows, Celeborn—with Elrond still translating—proclaimed:

_The bond shall not be broken,_

_For they have promised to the Valar themselves._

_Now they walk the path of their hearts_

_The path of never-ending._

_Love is a great circle_

_With no beginning and no end._

_Never shall it be broken_

_Never shall the fire cease to burn_

_For their love shall never die._

Legolas squeezed her hands gently to guide her. This was something unique in an Elven wedding ceremony that was not done by Mortals—after all, the Eldar did not die as do Men. Falling into his eyes, Seveawen matched the dance-like steps, once around in a circle—the path of never-ending, as Celeborn had proclaimed. Their love had grown slowly, a single spark smoldering until it burst into an undying flame, still burning as brightly as it ever had. Once begun, it could not be undone.

As they completed the circle, Legolas brought his face close to hers. "This is the soul-joining," he explained below even a whisper. "It is the final step. We will then be complete."

"Naihanya nelye oilehtyë," Celeborn repeated, _May it be known that you are joined forever_.

Seveawen breathed and closed her eyes, feeling Legolas do the same, foreheads touching and noses brushing as if he were about to kiss her. They began to sense a humming between them, golden fire growing and growing and growing. Two heartbeats filled the air that gradually changed until they became one. Seveawen had heard of this, the soul-joining. Only Elves had this power, as they loved, bonded and wedded for eternity. Nothing could ever tear a heart from its soul-bound partner, its other half. The sensation soon became so strong that its sheer beauty filled her eyes with tears. Her cheeks growing wet, she felt Legolas's arm slip around her and embrace her. But his hands still remained clasped around hers. It was the warmth of his soul that she had felt.

Legolas felt his own entwine with hers. She was weeping again, and he wished to hold her tight. _Do not cry, Seveawen,_ he told her. _You are beautiful, and you are loved. I am yours forever. Please do not cry._ His soul wrapped itself around hers, their hearts now beating in unison. It was so breathtakingly beautiful, so unbearably wonderful to feel the very essence of her spirit alongside his as the tears streamed down his face. They were bonded.

The humming warmth vanished abruptly, startling Seveawen so much that she nearly gasped aloud. But something had changed greatly between them, something she could not even describe but only sense.

She shared his soul now.

The murmurs of the crowd began to grow, echoing Celeborn. "Ta ná indomië i-Valar! Nailye almárëa as melmë ar-alassë! It is the will of the Valar! May you be blessed with love and joy!"

Seveawen smiled as Legolas—her husband, she realized—touched her chin. His skin and cheekbones shone with streaks of tears. "Vessë ar-meleth nîn," he whispered, "ruinlach en'coinin," _My wife and love, flame of my existence._ "We are wed, Seveawen."

She laughed through her tears. She had been in this place once before, nervous and sick with dread and guilt. But that was all behind her now. She had given her heart away by choice, to the one who deserved it. And they could never be parted.

Seveawen brought her gaze back up to him. The crowd was cheering for them and applauding their union, but they were hinting at something. Was it traditional—acceptable—expected to seal the ceremony with a kiss? But then his hand lay against her back and pulled her closer to the fire.

Legolas breathed deeply the smell of her hair, cradling her as tightly to him as he could. Had her lips always been so cool? He longed to warm them, feel them, taste them, never let them go. She fit perfectly in his embrace, tucked under his chin as his head bent to meet her. Legolas rubbed her back one last time before pulling away. His desire was only beginning, but it had been filled: he had the Sea, and he had Seveawen. They were one.


	22. Fire

Fire

The massive hall was filled to the rafters with Elvish revelers celebrating the marriage of Legolas Thranduillion and Morvána Celebrithil. Quite a few whistled merrily at the bride as she slipped among them, following her husband with her hand in his.

"That feast in Mirkwood was one thing, but—" She looked around, smelling the Elvish wine that had long ago overflowed from its goblets. "I had no idea Elves were so…" Seveawen struggled to find an appropriate word.

"Rowdy?" Legolas offered with a smile, eyes glittering in the firelight. He laughed. "Yes, when the occasion calls for it, our people enjoy quite a carousal. The marriage of a warrior prince to one so faithful and honorable and blessed by the Elven stars is certainly such an event." He touched her chin and brushed his lips against her cheek softly.

Legolas had said nothing to her, but despite his joy there still lay a weight in his heart. For many years, he had stood beside Aragorn as a close friend. He had walked with him as they accompanied Frodo east toward Mordor and fought for Middle-Earth. He had stood beside him as Elessar was crowned King of Men, of Gondor and Arnor, and as his hand was joined with Arwen Undómiel in the same bond he now shared with Seveawen. Estel's time had come and passed, his Queen soon to follow, and Legolas missed Aragorn terribly. Perhaps Elessar had longed to watch his friend promise the very depths of his heart to someone special, just as he had, and to once again hunt alongside him in the woods. But what becomes of a Mortal soul is unknown, and it magnified the empty space left behind.

Seveawen watched her husband carefully, wondering what to say. His fierce blue eyes that had only moments ago been bright with happiness and affection were clouding over, and she knew the reason for his sadness. She had spoken nothing of this, but there had been someone beside them, someone not to be seen but felt. Reaching for his hand, she murmured, "I know, Legolas. You miss him. He has not left you, meleth nîn. Aragorn is with us. I can feel his presence. I sensed him in the crowd even as Frodo took my hand. And Arwen, too, she is beside him. They are together, and they are at peace."

Legolas gazed wistfully at nothing in particular. "Yes," he said, "they are at peace." Mood lifting, his attention turned to a table in the very center of the hall, where Gandalf sat with Gimli and the hobbits. Bilbo had wandered off, but Sam and Frodo were enjoying mugs of ale brewed especially for them.

He laughed under his breath. "If Merry and Pippin were here," he said," they would be dancing on top of the table, singing a drinking song from the Shire."

Gimli roared with laughter, without a doubt from ale and feasting, as the bride and groom joined them. "Aha, Master Elf, now she's yours! And a lovely one she is, right pretty enough for a young Elven princeling!"

_Gimli has already had a mug or two,_ Seveawen thought.

"But what of the Dwarves, the people of the caves and the dark? You know it's the Dwarves—"

Legolas rolled his eyes. He had heard this once before, in a thatched beer hall in Rohan after the Battle of Helm's Deep, as he and Gimli faced off over endless mugs of ale. "Yes, it's the Dwarves who swim with little hairy women. But remember, Gimli," he answered, "it is the Elves who make such sweet and tender love to their beautiful wives."

His response brought even more laughter. Though enjoying the thought, Legolas darkened slightly. He refused to indulge any of his urges until he was certain that Seveawen's desire matched his. _Forgive me, Seveawen,_ he thought, slightly guilty at even mentioning such a pleasure without truly knowing her feelings toward it.

Seveawen's ears had still caught her husband's words, and she blushed. Did he know how she quivered with wanting to succumb and let him in? Did he know how badly she wanted to be alone with him? She took a deep breath and banished the rushing feeling in the pit of her stomach.

Finally Legolas squeezed her hand. It was time to go. They bid their farewells and graciously accepted the countless well-wishes they received. Gimli still laughed heartily at something only between Legolas and himself, even arousing smiles from Gandalf and the hobbits, and then they were finally alone.

Legolas slipped his arms around Seveawen just so. She was so light, so easy to carry, and he hoped that his Elven strength would not be too much for her later on. She settled her head on his shoulder, sweet and lovely and familiar, and let him bear her into their home.

He had settled overlooking the Sea, but everything else was forest. All the furniture was carved of strong solid wood, glossy dark and carefully formed. Even the blanket was of green cloth with a somewhat-pattern that shifted before the eyes, clearly reminiscent of the forests of Middle-Earth. It was his balance between the two places he loved.

Seveawen kept her arms around him as he set her feet on the floor, heart already beating faster. He was finally hers. "Legolas…" she whispered, stroking his hair and breathing in his scent. "Meleth nîn…"

Legolas felt himself shiver involuntarily. _Not yet,_ he told himself. _Not now. Not until I know._ This aching was about intimate affection, not lust. He refused to betray her and seduce her without her consent, to let his physical yearning destroy the love he felt. But his hand still settled against her hips, drawing them dangerously close to his.

Seveawen looked up at him. He was wearing away her defenses quickly, as if she had any to begin with. Those blue eyes were beginning to burn with a new emotion her prince had carefully kept hidden from her until now—drive. She fingered his chest, watching him, his reaction. The fire in his eyes kept growing.

_She wants it_, Legolas realized. _She wants __me_. His heartbeat quickened, pulse and warmth beginning to build in the most tender parts of his body. _We are equal in our desire. I will release gently._

Seveawen had had enough of waiting and holding back. She found the shoulders of her dress and let it fall to the floor.

The result was spectacular. That first warm touch spread quickly to her cheeks as she felt herself come to rest on the bed. She had never been kissed this way, so powerful and urgent not just with passion, but the passion of an Elf. After a moment, she heard the flutter of clothing landing on the floor and felt only the heat of her husband's skin against her.

Legolas kissed her neck softly. If she just knew the effect her simple gesture had on him, to at last see the beauty of her body revealed. He could only run his hand slowly over her skin in praise.

Seveawen closed her eyes. Oh, how she had wanted this, to be loved in such a way. Throughout their human marriage, Ohtar had accepted the fact that his friend did not care for him the way he did her, but he had taken good care of his wife and indulged himself only on their wedding night and when children were wanted. Now she could at last pour her heart out to her true husband with her touch, her whisper, her love itself.

Legolas settled himself next to her on the bed. His body had calmed to a moment of peace now, before his desire overwhelmed them both again. "Seveawen…" he whispered.

She touched his hair, fingers lingering by those deep blue eyes. "Le melon," she murmured.

His lips found the sensitive skin of her temple, blood already pounding again. _Hold_, he ordered himself. _I must tell her this_. "Ai, my sea maiden, before you are a maiden no longer, do you believe in love at first sight?"

Seveawen let her hand rest against his head. "Yes," she murmured. "That was the beginning of our story, was it not?"

"I think it was more the end. With every day passing, I know." He kissed her quietly. "I have come to realize it more and more as the moment itself fades further into memory. Seveawen, even that morning under the birch trees, I loved you. I know that now."

She smiled. She had slowly realized her own feelings of that day, the blissful helplessness when their gazes met and her agony when he disappeared back into the forest. "Yes," she said. "It took time for me to understand as well. But it should have been so obvious. Who am I but a mere human beside an Elven prince?"

"No, meleth nîn," he whispered against her shoulder. The urge was returning again, the pounding fire and the rush of his own blood, and he had to speak now before his body's instinct took back control. "You are no mere human. Mortal or Elven, you are the only one to stand beside this Elven prince. Le melon, Morvána."

As soon as he finished, Legolas moaned softly inside his chest as her touch sent him back to wild yearning. His desire could no longer be suppressed. It had waited a hundred years for their bonding. Now, tonight, she could willingly give in to his gentle seduction. Taking him in her arms, Seveawen let him tenderly pour his love over her, the way things should have been all along.


	23. Dawn

Dawn

Seveawen woke to the rush of the water beneath them. Valinor was awakening for a new day, her husband's bare warm skin beside her with his breathing a soft lullaby in her ear. She smiled, remembering that morning so long ago in Minas Tirith when she had dreamed of him, cried for missing him only a room away, and finally found the words to tell her sweet prince of her love. True to their vows, it had never faltered, only grown, even through tragedy. She winced as she walked through her mind, remembering all those years of sadness: their parting, bearing Ohtar's children as his wife and watching her human family grow old, Aragorn's passing, and little Théoden.

Ah, Théoden. Even Half-Elven and named for the old King of Rohan, he was born small and had no chance to take in the strength of the Blessed Realm that he needed to live. The morning he was born, his father had paced anxiously outside the bedchamber, praying and pleading with Elbereth and the Valar and Ilúvatar Himself to let their son live. But Legolas had heard the cry and known that it was weak, that their first child's time was too short. The little one's passing was widely mourned, for it is seldom that a soul passes from the Undying Lands.

But there were others. Their daughters were widely and well-known—Tassarë, Tindomerel, Sindome, Cuivian and Lótien, all strong and beautiful warrior women. Even with the centuries that had passed, they were the pride of those who had once dwelled in Middle-Earth; the children of Legolas Thranduillion and Morvána Celebrithil, living proof of the endless depth and power of their passionate love.

Legolas stirred beside her. "Meleth nîn," he murmured, touching the small of her back with a tiny kiss at the nape of her neck. "And so the dawn comes."

Seveawen nestled closer to him, rubbing somewhat suggestively against him with her hips, though the memory of the night before was still churning alive through her blood. "Do you remember that morning in Minas Tirith?" she asked softly. It was a moot point in either of their memories. His words were true—she was very much one of the Eldar, never waning in beauty nor fading in spirit, forever loved by the one whom she cared for beyond all measure. "I feel that perhaps I should repeat my words from that day long ago. My heart is brimming this morning."

"Do not trouble yourself," he laughed quietly. "Your heart has not changed. I feel it as I feel my own. Rest, Seveawen."

She felt his arms curl around her and hold her close to his chest, his heartbeat against her ear. The roaring Sea below began to lull them into a settling peace like welcomed sleep, a lover's desire satisfied. With countless days yet before them, today was only a moment in their chosen eternity. The call of the Sea and the cry of the heart were finally both satisfied.


End file.
